Stubborn Love
by VampiresHavebeagles
Summary: She'll lie and steal and cheat, and beg you from her knees. She'll make you think she means it this time, tearing a hole in you. But I still love her. I don't really care. A story from iambeagle and VampiresHaveLaws.
1. Home

**Kim spends her time eating Fruit Pastilles and putting up with Meg's insanity.**

**Meg spends her time eating Cool Whip and putting up with Kim's deliriousness.**

**This story is what happens when you spend an exorbitant amount of time Skyping and consuming sugar. We hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Lyrics in summary belong to The Lumineers. No beagles will be harmed during the process of writing this story.**

* * *

_May 2008_

* * *

Edward

This silence.

It's something I've missed.

It adheres to my skin, branding my lips and tongue as it coats my thoughts in its white noise.

There's nothing but empty space around me, outlined by sandy mountains and the kind of green you don't get in the city. I swipe my hand down my eyes, trying to remove any lingering traces of fatigue that pull against my lids, and yawn, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter with my left hand.

I've made this journey countless times before, the deserted road familiar as dust shifts up from the tires, clinging to the windows before clouding the air a suffocating beige. It's a grainy comfort that reminds me of evenings spent racing my bike across the very potholes that jerk my body forward in my seat now.

The sun is low in the sky, but the humidity is still here, sticking to my arms and chest. It's one of the reasons my parents insisted on a pool when they first bought the house, the heat cloying no matter what the hour.

Tasting salt on my lips, I pull in a deep breath, feeling its damp dryness in my lungs, and crank down the window a little further.

I'm not sure how many minutes pass before I recognize the familiar jut of rock at the side of the road, half covered by dried up weeds. It's then I also spot the house up ahead—one of only two down this road—and ease my foot off the gas pedal, slowing down as I pull into the driveway of my childhood home.

Cutting the engine, I exhale slowly through my nose, relieved that this trip is finally over—it felt a lot longer than forty minutes. Making sure my lighter is still inside my pocket, I slide out of the car, taking a second to stretch my arms above my head. I feel the hem of my shirt creep up my stomach and brush against my skin. I also feel the way the sun beats down on the back of my neck, my eyes squinting against its brightness: still blue sky caught between half lowered lids as I grip my keys within my palm.

That familiar warmth and pull immediately spreads through my muscles, and I tilt my head back further, groaning in relief, glad to finally be out of the confined space.

Knowing I have no exams, no deadlines to worry about for at least twelve weeks, is just another weight off my shoulders, and I can't help but smile.

Clearing my throat, I straighten back up, my gaze momentarily lingering on the window of my old bedroom as I take in the same blue curtains at the glass. Everything from the outside looks exactly the same as it did at Christmas, except maybe the ground, which has become dry and cracked from the sun's rays, small fissures running out in a number of directions.

For the past two summers I've spent my time back here in Corona de Tucson, looking after my mother's house while she visits her boyfriend in Florida.

My parents split almost three years ago, a few weeks after my eighteenth birthday. It didn't come as that big of a shock, their arguments becoming more heated as the years went by. And, if I'm being completely honest, it didn't affect me as much as it may have if I'd been younger.

The civility that surrounded their divorce left me with little doubt that they had stayed together because of me—until I was old enough and no longer living under their roof—though I know they'd never admit it.

The subject of us selling the house had arisen a few times after that, but once I decided to attend school in Tucson, the choice was made to keep it—at least until after I graduated.

My mom stayed living in the house, while my father moved ten minutes down the road to a smaller place that required less upkeep, the yard out back mainly laid to concrete with just a few potted plants that mostly took care of themselves.

Blinking against the light, I leave my bags for the moment and round the front of the car, distracted as I sort through the keys on the chain, the metal warm in my palm.

As soon as I open the door, my feet force me directly to the thermostat, the air thick with heat. I run my palm across my chin, kicking on the air conditioning before heading to the kitchen, grimacing at how stuffy it is.

Wiping my palms on my jeans, I notice a note tucked under the fruit bowl that holds nothing but two oranges. Trapping the paper beneath my fingers, I slide it closer, my eyes grazing over my mother's familiar scrawl as I run my hand over the back of my head, holding in a sigh when I read the words 'garage' and 'boxes' and 'Goodwill' all in the same sentence.

She leaves me a to-do list every summer, whether she's here or not, and this one is no exception. They first started appearing when I was sixteen, her constant nagging about wanting more help around the house kicking into full gear the same year I started dating—I wasn't stupid enough to think this was merely a coincidence.

One of her co-worker's daughters had gotten pregnant around the same time, and I was under no illusion those chores were set to keep me a _different kind _of busy to the thoughts I generally had any time I got near a girl—especially the one that had just gotten her tits and would straddle me in the front seat of my car every time I dropped her home from school.

Smirking at the memory, and having no intention of starting my list of chores until tomorrow, I fist the note into a ball, heading back outside to collect my bags from the car.

Sweat sticks to the nape of my neck as I step through the doorway, the laces in my boots untied as I scuff the side of the leather against the potted plant to my right. Whatever was growing inside the cement box is now dead, gnarled from the base as it stems to a crooked point.

I pull a pack of cigarettes from my pocket, sliding one from its cardboard confine carefully: the filter gets placed between my slightly parted lips, and I tap the pocket of my jeans for the lighter I know I'll find inside.

Bringing the flame to the tip, I inhale, two drawn out pulls that crackle as I listen to the dry tobacco catch. Smoke fills my lungs, and I hold it for just a moment, liking the breathless feel of it inside my chest, before exhaling slowly.

I stand and watch the smoke haze the sky for a few seconds, repeating the action again and again, before another type of cloud catches my attention.

This one is made up of dust from the road, a suffocating blanket that rolls through the air with its maker.

A red Chevy is tumbling down the dirt path with some speed, swerving from side to side as laughter rings out from inside the cab.

My eyes squint as my cigarette balances between my lips, my hand rising to shade the sun's glare from my vision. I can't see who is behind the wheel, but there's only one other house down this road, and the people inside this rapidly moving vehicle definitely aren't here to see me.

I watch as it eventually comes to a stop in the driveway of the house opposite, my hand dropping back to my mouth as my lips pull, hold and exhale cloudy white. Both doors to the Chevy open, but my eyes drift to the girl who jumps down from the bed of the truck, legs long and skin pale, hair a tangled mess as she tilts up her face to accept the last rays of the sun before it retreats into inky black.

I hear more laughter as both of her friends disappear inside the house, but she stays in place, seemingly contemplating something.

She sways slightly on her feet, but she has a smile at her mouth, one that curls just slightly with eyes closed, like she's privy to the best kind of kept secret. I let my eyes travel from her lips to her eyes, suddenly caught off guard when I realize she's staring directly at me. Quickly averting my gaze, I focus on the rapidly burning cigarette between my fingers, slightly embarrassed at being caught staring at her.

Inhaling once more, I keep tabs on her out of my peripheral, noting that she doesn't make a move for a good thirty seconds. As I flick my cigarette to the ground, I hear a clattering followed by a muttered curse, and when I glance her way again, I notice she's dropped to her knees, lazily shoving items back into a bright green bag.

I keep my eyes on her as I grind my cigarette beneath my boot, certain I've never seen a person move as slowly as she's moving. I'm briefly torn between grabbing my bags and heading back inside the house, or making my way over to this girl because she's taking so fucking long to gather her shit.

Sighing heavily, I slip my lighter and pack of cigarettes into the pocket of my jeans, rubbing the back of my neck as I hesitate before finally walking over. My eyes stay trained on her the entire time, and I can't help but find it odd that she doesn't bother looking up, not once, even when I catch her staring at my boots.

I clear my throat, and I'm not surprised when I hear her speak, addressing the stranger who's standing above her.

"Are you going to stand there or are you going to help me?" she asks, pointing towards what looks to be a tube of chapstick near my boot.

I furrow my brows as I squat down to her level, balancing myself by keeping one hand on the ground while using my other hand to grab the thing for her. I hold out the black and white tube, waiting for her to reach out and take it, only to pull back quickly before she can grasp it.

"Hey!" she protests, confused, her eyes finally glancing up to meet mine. Her lids are slightly hooded, and there is a small trace of black smudged beneath her right eye, just under her lashes.

She gazes back levelly, and I tease, "What? No 'please' or 'thank you'?"

She says nothing and I toss the lip stuff into her open bag. Her eyes flick to the contents inside, following my movement with a blink, before focusing her attention back on me.

"Thank you _so_ much for all of your help," she replies sarcastically. "Seriously. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Usually this kind of attitude would have driven me away by now, so I'm not sure why I'm still here.

"You're so very welcome," I say after a few seconds of debating, mocking her tone while shrugging.

I crack a smile when she looks away, and push off the ground to stand upright. Once all of her belongings are back inside her bag, she stands, keeping it between her feet.

"You know Sue?" I ask her, watching as her face contorts in confusion.

"Who?" she questions, securely tucking some hair behind her ear with her fingers. Her nails are painted this shade of red that reminds me of the first car I ever bought.

"The lady's driveway we're standing in," I point out, scuffing the dirt with my boot for emphasis.

"Ah," she says slowly, catching on. "Leah's aunt, right?"

I frown, briefly recalling Mom mentioning that Mrs. Clearwater had a niece. "I guess, yeah."

The temperature is finally starting to drop, a slight breeze that rustles the tall, dry grass in the surrounding fields. It creates this whispering noise that sounds like the hiss of a snake—it also shifts the hair she's just tucked behind her ear, bringing it back to her cheek, and my fingers twitch at my sides, fighting the urge to push it away again.

"What's your name?" I ask after a moment, running a hand over my chin because I don't know what else to do.

"Tell me yours first, and I'll think about telling you mine," she answers with that same secret smile from before.

"I don't play games," I tell her. For some reason, this makes her laugh.

"Why not? I do," she replies, dragging her front teeth over her bottom lip. Her pupils are big and the whites of her eyes are slightly bloodshot. The playful glint in her gaze keeps my feet firmly in place despite her revelation.

"I'm Edward," I tell her, and she finds it funny when I hold out my hand for her to shake.

She looks at my palm for a moment before taking it in hers, playfully narrowing her eyes as she shakes it twice. "Nice to meet you."

Nothing more follows and I look at her expectantly. "You don't have a name?" I question. Her fingers feel different than my own as they press against my skin.

She cocks her head to the side ever so slightly, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Everyone has a name," she answers simply.

"And yours is..." I hint, trailing off when she pulls her hand from mine completely.

She gets this look in her eye just before answering, and I remember what she said earlier, about liking to play games. "And I'm... just visiting."

I feel my brows meet, and decide to drop it... _for now_.

"From where?" I ask instead.

"We just drove in from New Mexico," she explains, leaning over to grab something out of her bag. I raise my eyebrows as she pulls out a yellow lighter.

"New Mexico," I repeat, waiting for her to go on, but she doesn't. "What brings you to Arizona?" I pry, trying again.

"You." She smiles, rolling her eyes before laughing. "I don't know. What brings _you_ here?" she challenges.

My gaze sweeps over her face. "You," I tease, eyeing the lighter in her hands, pulling the cigarettes from my pocket to offer her one.

She declines and slides back down to the ground, folding her legs beneath her, uncaring of the dust. I'm a little surprised—most girls I know wouldn't be so quick to get dirty.

I run my palm over my jaw and watch as she sets her bag in front of her pale knees. The right one has a cut that looks to be fairly new, an angry pink that's bordering on red, and I briefly wonder how it got there.

"So, you smoke?" she questions without looking up.

I lick my lips. "Yeah," I answer her, swallowing.

She nods, but adds, "I'm not talking about the shit you can buy down at the nearest grocery store."

She pulls a smallish tin from the front pouch of her bag, zip pulled and sound lingering. Faded stickers and scratches decorate the metal surfaces, and upon opening, I can see that it holds more than just tobacco.

I lean back against the truck in the driveway and look down through my lashes as she balances a paper on her bare knee. She breaks up the bud with knowing fingers as I just stand and watch, spreading out the little bits of green evenly.

I've never met anybody so unconcerned with what another person thinks before. She doesn't know who I am, if I can be trusted, or what my reaction will be. And seemingly... she just doesn't care.

Rolling with familiarity, she tucks green inside weightless white and brings the whole thing to her mouth, ready to seal.

Her eyes lift to mine as her tongue slides across the edge of paper, and I shove my cigarettes inside my pocket, holding back a smirk.

"You can sit," she says, staring up at me.

She traps me in her gaze and I take a deep breath, swallowing thickly.

"I don't usually smoke with nameless people," I half joke, slightly annoyed that she still has yet to reveal her name.

"Bummer. You're missing out," she shoots back, flicking the lighter in her right hand three times.

I push my hair up from my forehead, tugging lightly. "If I sit, will you tell me?"

She doesn't miss a beat, her response instant as it rolls off her tongue. "No."

Her smile is back and mine has disappeared. She carries on looking, and I can feel the muscles in my jaw tick. I'm not even sure why I care so much.

"But," she adds, holding up the joint in her left hand. "I will share this... if you want?"

My eyes flick from it, back to her face, and before I know it, I'm sitting in the dirt beside her, ignoring the smile that is still in place, pulling at her lips.

I went through a phase when I first got to college, smoked my fair share of weed when offered, but I haven't done anything in a few months.

Something in my gut tells me that maybe I shouldn't trust this girl, but as I glance at her from the corner of my eye and take in her rosy cheeks and curling, dark lashes, I wonder how harmful she could really be.

She places the joint between her lips, and this time, when she clicks the lighter, it ignites the end of paper and green, and not just the warm, summer air.

My forearms rest over my jean-clad knees, and I rub my chin against the gray cotton covering my shoulder, staring out into the distance as the familiar scent of weed fills my nose.

It grabs my attention, and I watch as she takes another three quick pulls before nudging her elbow to mine, holding out the joint to me between her thumb and pointer finger.

The contact catches me off guard, and when I reach out to take it from her hand, the pad of my thumb brushes over her red nail.

Her eyes fly to mine for just a moment, and then she's turning her head again, exhaling into the open space in front of her.

I watch the smoke unfurl from between her parted lips for a second or two longer before bringing the joint to my own mouth, filling my lungs with the familiar burn that is more pleasant than not.

My eyes squint against the smoke as I exhale slowly, and this time it's _she_ who is watching _me_.

"What?" I question, taking another couple of hits before passing it back to her.

She looks me over while she smokes, and this time she doesn't bother looking away when she breathes out.

"Your eyes are green," she states.

I laugh through my nose, shaking my head. "Yeah, I know. Weird, right?" I say, messing with her.

A smirk plays at her mouth as she bumps her hand lightly to mine, urging me to take the remainder of the joint. "No, they're like, _really_ green," she says again, trying to explain.

I smile and say, "And I think you're _really_ high."

"Hmm, maybe," she murmurs, ignoring me again as she sifts through the contents of her bag.

She pulls out her chapstick, twists off the cap and runs the end over her lips. I take another two pulls from the joint before crushing it under the heel of my boot, holding the smoke inside my lungs for a few more seconds before pushing it back out.

I try not to cough, and hear her giggle as she starts making patterns in the grains of dirt with her finger, scrubbing them out with her palm when they're seemingly not good enough.

The sun is setting, night creeping in, and my mouth is dry as I swipe my tongue over my lips. I'm suddenly thirsty, and think about asking if she has a bottle of water or something tucked away in that bag of hers, because cottonmouth is a bitch.

We smoke another joint, and I don't know how long we both just sit like this, side by side, but it's surprisingly easy, this silence that exists between us in this moment. Perhaps it's because we're strangers who just happened to be in the same place at the same time, relieving the pressure of words and continued conversation.

That is until I see a rather large initial drawn into the dirt, surrounded by what looks to be the outline of flames.

"B?" My voice is abrupt, and her lips pull up high. She doesn't turn to look at me though. Or say a word.

"That's your name?" I guess, but she shakes her head, still not answering me.

I'm undeterred this time. "Your name begins with the letter B?" I wonder instead, going for a different angle.

It seems she is too, though.

"I'm bored," she says suddenly, sitting up and glancing around the yard as dusk takes over the sky.

I take a deep breath, telling myself that an initial drawn in the dirt is better than nothing.

"Okay," I say, unsure of what she wants me to do. My limbs feel comfortably heavy as an idea pops into my head. "We can swim," I suggest, watching as her eyes light up in excitement.

"Oh yeah? Where?" she asks, removing the elastic band from her wrist and pulling her hair back.

I sit up as well, running both hands through my own hair before I point across the street towards my empty house. None of the lights are on inside, the windows reflecting back nothing but darkness.

She doesn't respond for a moment, and I use the extra seconds to stare at her profile, watching the way she licks her bottom lip before turning towards me.

"No shit? You have a pool?" she finally asks, standing to brush off the back of her thighs.

"Well. My parents do," I say, glancing up and openly staring at the curve of her ass, barely covered by the denim of her shorts.

Before I can look away, she bends over to grab her bag and begins running across the dirt tracked road, not bothering to wait for me.

It takes a moment for my mouth to catch up with what my eyes are seeing. "Hey!" I call out, maybe a little too loud as surprise rolls through me.

I'm stunned still, my fingers pressing into the dry ground, but before I know it, I'm on my feet, too, taking off in the same direction.

Once I catch up to her, she slows to a stop, smiling and slightly breathless as she walks around my house, looking for an entrance to the backyard.

"Over here," I say, gently yanking her arm and pulling her behind me, towards the gate. I fumble with the latch and push against the wood, letting her walk in first, more so out of wanting to stare at her ass again, than politeness.

"Nice place," she murmurs while assessing the backyard, looking over her shoulder to give me another smile.

"Yeah. My mom has lived here for a while now," I tell her, looking around the space to see what she sees.

"And where do you live?" she questions, tossing her bag onto an empty lawn chair.

"Tucson," I tell her distractedly, suddenly realizing we haven't actually exchanged any information about one another.

I know absolutely nothing about this girl. I have no idea of her age, where her family lives, or if she has a boyfriend.

Fuck, I still don't even know her _name_.

"Hey," I bark out, squinting my eyes to make out her expression in the early evening light.

But before I can say anything else, she takes off towards the pool, running to gain speed as she jumps through the air, using one hand to cover her tucked knees, and the other to hold her nose.

A splash follows, and I'm simply staring, wondering what the fuck just happened.

I blink and it takes me a moment to realize she's broken the surface of the water... and that she just jumped into the pool with all of her clothes on.

I lazily walk to the edge, staring down at the water as she filters into my line of sight, watching as she takes quick breaths to gain some air.

"Oh my God. The water is perfect," she comments, dipping her head back under again.

I shake my head. "What are you doing?" I choke out, maybe wanting to laugh. My chest feels a little tight, and _who is this girl?_

Her look is incredulous, as if I'm the crazy one. "What are _you _doing?" she shoots back. "Get in."

My hesitation lasts for half a second before I kick off my boots, making a move to unbutton my jeans.

"No. Come on," she says with a light laugh. "Just get in."

My fingers pause on my zipper. "I'm wearing clothes," I point out, just in case she hasn't noticed.

"So am I," she shrugs. And then she splashes me, managing to cover my jeans in water. I look down at the rapidly darkening denim as she says, "Now you're wearing wet clothes, too, so what difference would it make if you took them off or not?"

"Wow." I laugh, slightly irritated as I shake my head. "Are you always used to getting your way?"

Her teeth press into her bottom lip. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she taunts, her chin disappearing beneath the water. A few more seconds pass and she sighs. "Come on. They're just clothes. You're overthinking this, Edward."

It's the first time she's used my name. I didn't think she was listening before, and I definitely like the way it sounds rolling off her tongue.

"You're_ under _thinking this, B," I counter, amused at the expression that plays across her face.

She doesn't respond, but merely waits patiently instead, maybe because she has a feeling I'll give in.

I narrow my eyes, looking her over as I try to figure her out.

Her hair is slicked back, a little darker from the water, and the sky is turning an inky blue, making her skin look paler than before. She's different—impulsive, maybe a little crazy—and my pulse speeds up as she holds my stare.

I'm not sure I ever had a choice, and so before I can think about what I'm doing, I sigh heavily and jump into the pool, giving her what she wants.

I keep my head under water with my eyes closed for as long as I can, until I feel fingers threading themselves through my hair, pulling me above the surface.

When I finally lift my lids, she's closer than I expected, and her proximity, along with the way her shirt clings to her chest, elicits an immediate reaction in my jeans.

"Why did you really come here, to Corona?" I question, using my arms to swim myself back a few feet, putting some distance between us.

"Because..." she trails off, looking up at the dusky sky, then back at me. "I was bored."

"You came here because you were bored," I say flatly, unsure of why this fascinates me.

"Yes," she tells me.

My jeans feel so fucking heavy, weighing down my legs. "How old are you?" I ask, because I have to.

Half a minute passes, and I figure she's not going to reveal her age to me. But then she swims over, closing the distance I've created between us.

"I'm eighteen," she admits, her palms skimming the water.

I wait for her to return the question, but when she doesn't, I feel the need to tell her anyway. "I'm twenty-one."

"Ah," she breathes out, watching the ripples her fingers make. "So... you're twenty-one year old Edward, who lives in Tucson, but likes to spend the odd summer evening in Corona, swimming with girls you don't know."

I frown, knowing exactly what she's trying to get at. "Why do you think there are girls?"

"Look at you. There are girls." She laughs, swiping a hand over her mouth.

There's a brief pause of silence where I let her words sink in. "I'm only with one girl right now," I point out.

There hasn't been anyone else for over six months. Or, at least, not in the serious sense anyway.

"Yeah. You are," she murmurs, sucking in both cheeks. "I'm sure all those other girls will be so jealous."

She laughs, and I'm not sure if it's at me, the situation, or something else.

"So, you're B," I say, rolling my eyes, "and you're eighteen. You like to spend the odd summer evening smoking and swimming with guys you hardly know."

She flicks a little water at me. "I wouldn't say I hardly know you," she scoffs. "You're Leah's aunt's neighbor. We're practically friends."

"_Practically_." I laugh out loud, fighting the urge to proclaim that there's something about her that makes me want to be her friend.

Maybe it's the weed, or maybe it's the way she's purposely withholding information about herself, but I suddenly want to know everything about this girl.

"How long are you here for?" I ask instead, filling the silence without coming off as too eager.

She stares up at the sky, blinking the water from her lashes. "However long I want," she replies coolly.

Her face turns back towards mine, and I stare at her for a beat longer, the water carefully, silently moving between us. It feels like I'll be unable to tear my eyes away from hers when the time comes.

"Tell me your name," I urge again, my voice a little quieter than before.

"Why?" she whispers.

I lick my lips, tasting the chlorine. "Because I want to know you," I admit, not caring how silly it sounds.

Her stare gets a little harder, her expression more serious. "You shouldn't want to know me," she insists.

I watch as she raises her brows and mimic the movement. "And why is that?" I press.

Her eyes narrow minutely. "Do you really need a reason?" she questions, a smirk playing at her lips, but I'm not sure if it's born out of lightness or not.

I don't hesitate in answering, "Yes."

Because I do... I _do_ want a reason.

She thinks about this for a minute—maybe even two—and purses her lips. "Perhaps I'm not a good person," she finally answers.

"What do you mean?" I ask, unsure if she's joking. "Did you rob a bank or something?"

This makes her laugh. "No." She pulls the tie out of her hair, leaning her head back until she's dipping it under water, the strands spreading out, appearing weightless beneath.

"Well," I finally say. "You don't seem all that bad to me."

The look in her eyes screams caution, but the slight smile at her mouth tells a different story, a contradiction encased in brown. "That's because you _don't _know me," she says.

Before I'm even able to comprehend what she's saying, she averts her eyes from mine and swims past me without uttering another word. I stay in place, stupefied as I watch her climb the stairs out of the pool, taking a moment to wring her hair out.

"Hey!" I shout, trying to get her to stay, even though I know I don't hold that kind of power.

Now that the sun has fully disappeared, light drained from the sky, my eyes struggle to keep tabs on her shadowy form as she makes her way across the lawn. I squint and can just barely see her arm reach out to grab her bag from the chair, but she moves quickly, and I lose sight of her in the darkness.

When I hear the hinges protest and the gate slam shut, I know she's gone.

All too suddenly, I'm standing alone in the pool, wondering what to do next. She's unpredictable and slightly temperamental, and I'm unsure if I should go after her.

Replaying the conversation we've had over the past couple of hours, she's given me no real indication that she would want me to follow. But there's something inside me that's telling me I can't _not_.

Before I can let myself overthink this, I make my way to the edge of the pool, placing my palms on the surrounding cement to lift myself out. A mere five steps across the lawn, and I know I'm going to have to get out of these wet jeans if I'm going to catch her in time. The water has weighed them down, and they're almost impossible to walk in, let alone run in.

I don't think twice as I discard my jeans and run towards the gate—I don't give a fuck when I find myself standing in the middle of my driveway, wearing only a soaking wet t-shirt and boxers.

The lack of lights from both houses makes it hard to see where I'm walking, and I pause just before I hit the road, a muttered _shit_ leaving my mouth as I run both hands through my hair.

I can't see her, and my fingers pull at the wet strands as I take one more look around, scanning the darkness for any signs that she's still out here.

Frustration makes my jaw clench, muscles ticking, and I'm just about to head back inside when a raised voice stops me.

"Bella? Where the fuck were you?"

The sound is followed by the flick of a porch light, illuminating the house opposite in weak yellow. My heart pounds inside my chest as the very person I was searching for comes into view, the green of her bag brighter than anything else.

Her back is to me, and although I can't make out her words in reply to her friend, I can hear her laugh.

I'm busy realizing that I now know her name, when my eyes catch them both disappearing inside, the door shutting after them with a click. The sound echoes out into the night, and before I'm able to even think or make a move, the porch light flicks off and I'm standing alone, swallowed whole by darkness once more.

Turning away, I force myself to walk inside, trying my hardest to ignore the pull this girl seems to have on me.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

Closing the door behind me, I slump back against the glass, swallowing thickly as I stare up at the ceiling fan. Exhaustion settles over me, confusion seeping into my bones as I watch the blades rotate, my hands lifting from my sides to push through my hair.

I don't know this girl, have no idea how long she plans to stay in Corona, or if I'll even see her again, but I can't shake the fact that she's gotten under my skin.

Pulling in a deep breath, the events of the night spiral through my head, flashes of pale skin and furling smoke lingering heavily behind my lids when I close my eyes.

My shirt is clinging to my chest, and as I grasp the wet cotton in my fist, attempting to pull it away from my skin, I realize that my heart is still pounding.

I have a sudden, overwhelming feeling that my world is about to be turned upside down...

And I'm not sure I want to stop it.

* * *

**Sup? Cheerio! Welcome to our latest story endeavor. We know what y'all are thinking, and the answer is no. Vampires don't actually have beagles. Or eat them. **

**So much love and thanks to Susan for being our sweet beta. Also, thanks to time_lights for creating a fuckawesome banner for us. Link is on our profile.**

**And lastly, thank YOU for reading. Reviews will get a teaser for the next chapter.**

** See you all soon! xx**


	2. Goodwill

**Disclaimer: ****No beagles will be harmed during the process of writing this story. **

* * *

_May 2008_

* * *

Edward

Though it's only seven in the morning, the temperature outside is deceivingly cool, not nearly as hot as I know it's going to be.

The sky is streaked with orange, feathery amongst the blue. I set my mug on the concrete flower bed, my eyes drifting to the house opposite for a split second as I slide the cigarette out from behind my ear. I light it quickly, keeping my gaze on the flame while inhaling deeply, holding the smoke inside my lungs for longer than necessary in my attempt to distract myself.

Curiosity plagues my thoughts when I notice the red Chevy missing from the driveway, the patch of oil on the cement the only sign it was once there.

It's been two days since I've seen Bella, and I have no idea if she's still in Corona; have no idea if she plans on coming back if she _has _left.

Taking another drag of my cigarette, I revel in the burn that fills my lungs and tell myself it doesn't matter.

When it's close to one in the afternoon and I've smoked my last cigarette in the pack, I finally decide to start the to-do list my mother left for me.

Walking around to the front of the house, I lean down and lift the overhead door to the garage, letting out a sigh because it's a fucking mess. Boxes are stacked on all sides, tools everywhere; garbage bags half torn open by God knows what. I take a deep breath and force myself to do more than just stand here, knowing the quicker I can get this done, the sooner it will be over.

I'm in the middle of flipping through a case filled with my dad's old LPs when something catches my attention from the corner of my eye.

Keeping my head down, I flick my gaze sideways, heart skipping a beat as I watch Bella walk into the garage and step over one of the smaller boxes, her bottom lip sucked into her mouth as she focuses on her feet.

Surprise jolts through me, her sudden appearance unexpected, her footing sure as she steps on and over an old skateboard of mine. I find it's not unwanted though, my eyes not leaving her form as she continues to get closer. She isn't paying me any attention, her hand running along one of the opposite benches, collecting dust on the pads of her fingers before blowing it off with a purse of her lips.

I clench my teeth and look away from her, waiting for some sort of recognition—a look, a _hello_—but minutes pass and nothing comes.

Pushing aside the case of music in front of me, I go back to watching her instead, wondering what game she's playing now. I want to ask her where she's been... Or, more importantly, why she's even here. She's looking all around her, taking everything in silently, her expression unchanging as she blows more dust from her fingers.

My jaw tenses and I will myself to keep my mouth shut, but after what must be another thirty seconds, my irritation abruptly gets the best of me, and I can't _not_ say anything.

"Long time no see," I say flatly, forcing a small smile onto my face as I shove my left hand into the pocket of my jeans, disturbing the loose change inside.

The coins steal the warmth from my palm as I wait for her to respond, expecting to be greeted with some sort of smart ass remark: when she settles for saying nothing, not even bothering to look my way, I can't help but feel frustrated.

My hand leaves the confine of my pocket to thread through my hair, fingers tugging at the strands as she gifts all of her attention to a box marked with my initials.

Walking over to the bench it sits on, she hums to herself quietly, a tune I'm not familiar with, the packing tape that has lost all its stickiness teased easily from the cardboard top.

Dust floats around her as she retrieves and opens a photo album, the outer cover the typical baby blue for a boy. I'm not sure what pictures are hidden away inside, but I leave her to it, not caring what she sees.

And maybe that's stupid, but with the amount of times my mother has pulled out my baby photos to women I've never met before—the number frequent over the years—I think I've become immune to the potential embarrassment that may linger on the glossy sheets of paper.

"What does the C stand for?" Bella asks after a second, still not bothering to look my way as her finger traces the emblem on the front of the album.

It's the first thing she's said to me since getting here, my tongue coming out to wet my lips as I think about pulling her up on her previous silence.

Her stance isn't uncomfortable, no awkwardness present as she lifts her left foot to scratch the back of her right calf. Her nails tap against the wooden bench top, impatience getting the better of her whether she realizes it or not.

I wasn't even sure I would see her again after she ran out on me Friday night, but here she is, rummaging through my stuff. Some part of me thinks I should tell her to get out, but then that other part—the more dominant side that wants to get to know her, despite the way she's already messed with my head in such a short space of time—stubbornly locks those words away.

Deciding against saying anything for the moment, I rub a hand over my jaw, my voice even as I respond with, "Cullen."

She nods, and then, "You were cute," she states, pouting slightly when the pages of the album stick together, her fingers working delicately to pull them apart.

She continues to flick through the pictures, one page after another until she's finished looking through that particular collection and is pulling out another, that same baby blue outer covering as before.

The silence stretches, and unable to stop myself again, I speak up.

"You aren't going to look at me today?" I ask roughly, letting out a sigh when I see the corners of her mouth twitch.

It's hard to know if it's my words she finds amusing, the photo she's staring at, or something else entirely.

I try to ignore her then—only because she finds it so easy to disregard me—and busy myself with sorting through a garbage bag filled with my old clothes.

Hardly two minutes have passed, but I feel my annoyance grow, needing her to acknowledge me in any way other than looking through old baby photos.

Glancing in her direction, I note the way her hair is pulled up high today, showing off more of her face and neck—I want her to look at me, allow me to see if her eyes are clear, free of black smudges and weed-heavy lids.

She's in another pair of cutoff shorts, too, but these look to be thinner, maybe cotton and not thick denim like before. The black material sits high on her bare legs, and I can't stop my eyes from running along all that pale skin.

She rises up onto the balls of her feet, photo album placed back inside the box, my gaze lingering on the backs of her thighs as she reaches for something off one of the shelves to her left. Without turning to face me, she asks, "What's this?"

Tearing my eyes from her legs, I look up to see what she's holding. It's this old paper weight in the shape of... I can't even remember what it's supposed to be. I only know I made it in second grade out of this clay type putty that stuck to my fingers and tasted like shit when I accidentally wiped my hands over my mouth afterward.

Before I even get a chance to answer her question out loud, she's gotten bored with the paper weight and is instead holding onto a cut off piece of garden hose.

"Can I have this?" she wonders, glancing back over her shoulder, in the vicinity of where I'm standing without actually looking atme.

I feel my brow furrow at the odd request, but nod. "If you want."

She turns back around and pockets the thing before my last word is even fully out of my mouth.

My palm finds my forehead, my frustration just barely contained, bubbling under the surface as I feel the muscles in my jaw clench and let go.

"_Bella_."

I don't know why I suddenly decide to say it for the first time now, when her ignorance was more of a shock at the start, but I can't help it. My voice is deliberately loud—abrupt—my tone slightly exasperated. Her body stills, and maybe I should have done this when she first walked in here, uttered her name—it seems to have caught her attention now.

I'm also trying to gauge her reaction to me knowing her name—using it—remembering the lengths she went to to keep it from me Friday night.

She flattens her feet back to the floor, finally giving me a reaction as she turns to face me fully, blinking slowly. If she's annoyed that I know her name, she doesn't comment on it. Instead, she lets her eyes linger on my face for a moment longer before scanning the garage for a new find.

I grit my teeth and hold back a groan, sucking in a deep breath through my nose, her silence grating.

She soon spots something that catches her attention, wasting no more time before heading towards it. "Do you bowl?" she asks, scratching the spot behind her ear, causing pieces of her hair to pull out of place.

My eyes stay trained on her, and it takes a second for me to realize what she's saying, her ability to change the subject so quickly leaving me in a daze. It's only when she's made her way through the mess that litters the garage floor, and is leaning over to grab the bag containing my father's bowling ball, that I understand why she's asking.

"I might," I answer as she unzips the bag and looks up at me expectantly. Her teeth graze her lip, maybe to stop herself from laughing, and I have to refrain from walking closer to where she's standing.

Her eyes flitter away, ignoring me again as she lifts the ball from its bag, holding it with both hands, its weight evident in the dip of her arms.

"It's my dad's," I tell her a second or two later,_ just because_, causing her gaze to flick back towards mine. It feels like she's really _looking _at me for the first time since arriving, her stare lingering, seemingly interested as I add, "He's not any good, though."

Without saying another word, she merely nods, apparently not needing any more information as she sets the ball back in its place, her touch careful.

"Tennis?" she questions vaguely, nodding towards a pair of wooden tennis rackets that are leaning against the wall beside the old TV set that we haven't used in years. I'm not even sure if it still works.

"This is all of my parents' shit," I admit, eyes sweeping over the contents of the garage, briefly wondering why most of my dad's belongings aren't with him. But then I realize he probably doesn't have space for all of it at his place. And even if he did, I doubt he'd actually want any of it. I mean, it's collecting dust out here for a reason.

"Oh, right," she says distractedly, leafing through an old auto magazine.

"I'm just going through this stuff because my mom wants to donate it," I explain, using my boot to kick one of the boxes for emphasis, disturbing the dust housed on top of the cardboard.

Her brows furrow, causing a deep crease to appear on her forehead, one that I can easily see from where I'm standing.

"Why?" she questions. Her eyes are wide, lips still slightly parted, distracting.

My eyes dip to her mouth, caught off guard by her skin-warming gaze. "Why what?" I question.

"Why are you going through the boxes for your mom?" she repeats.

"Er, she wants to make sure I don't need or want any of it before I drop it off at Goodwill..." I trail off, not exactly sure what else she wants me to say. "It's her way of keeping me out of trouble, I guess," I add, shaking my head as I laugh lightly.

This seems to pique her interest somewhat. "Do you get into trouble, Edward?"

Her eyes are teasing, her expression accelerating my pulse. "I don't know," I say, answering honestly. "There's usually not much trouble to get into around here."

"That's too bad," she muses, tongue swiping over her lips as she narrows her brown eyes, almost like a challenge.

It heats my blood and leaves me with this feeling of nervous anticipation.

"I guess that depends on who you're asking," I mumble, taking effort to pull my gaze from hers as I lean down and pick up the box in front of me, holding it securely against my chest.

"Well, I was asking you," she snaps. Apparently she doesn't like to be ignored, her sudden attitude both surprising and not.

"And I answered," I shoot right back, tightening my grip on the box. "Something you have yet to do with the majority of questions I ask you," I point out.

Her jaw tenses, and before she can open her mouth with some kind of retort, I stalk past her and out of the garage, the warm breeze brushing against my skin, allowing me to feel some sort of relief where she gives me none.

"I don't owe you anything!" she yells after me.

I don't reply for a moment, letting her words sink in as I set the box next to my SUV. I open the back door before depositing it next to the bag of clothes on the backseat, careful not to smack my head when straightening back up.

She walks from the shade of the garage out into this brighter version of heat that makes her skin look paler than I remembered. She doesn't shy away, pausing beside me, fingers toying with the hem of her shorts while keeping her eyes on me.

"I never said you owe me anything," I say lightly, keeping my spot next to the vehicle. "But a little common courtesy would be nice."

I don't want to argue with this girl, but I feel it could lead to one easily enough, especially if she really decided to push it that way.

"I'm sorry if you think I've been anything but courteous to you," she mutters, condescendence coating her tone.

I laugh at this, rather loudly, simultaneously irritated and finding it funny. Whatever she was about to say dies on her tongue, her expression letting me know that she was expecting a different reaction from me.

"You've been fine," I say, telling her a half lie. _I wonder if she notices.  
_

She shrugs and pulls a face, and with the help of the sunlight, I notice the freckles lightly covering the bridge of her nose.

Instead of staying on topic, she steps between the open car door and me, reaching over to peek inside the box I've just placed inside the car.

"What is all this crap, anyway?" she asks, digging through the contents.

"Junk. Clothes," I mutter as she pulls out a handful of my old shirts and pants from the bag.

"So stylish," she mumbles teasingly, choosing my old Beastie Boys shirt, dipping back out from the car as she holds it against her body.

I don't tell her how it feels to see it against her; don't listen to what my head is telling me.

She's quiet for a moment, and then, "I changed my mind. We can be friends," she suddenly states.

I rake a hand through my hair and shoot her a glance. "There was a point when you didn't want to be my friend?" I question, frowning when she just shrugs in reply. "This is news to me," I sigh, fingers rubbing the back of my neck. "What made you change your mind?"

I'm not surprised when she doesn't give me an answer, and even less surprised when she quickly pulls the shirt on over her head, shoving her arms into the sleeves. The sun is behind her, and I have to squint my eyes to see her clearly, the navy cotton ending just above the bottom of her shorts.

It looks good on her and I have to bite my tongue and look away before I do something stupid like compliment the way the color looks against her skin.

Before I'm able to say anything, embarrassing or otherwise, she's opening the passenger door, watching me as she climbs into the car. "By the way, thanks for the shirt," she says, fingers fumbling as she ties its hem into a knot just above her hip.

"Looks better on you anyway," I mumble, slamming the back door before sliding into the driver's seat. "You need a ride or something?" I ask, starting the ignition before buckling my seatbelt.

"No," she replies, not bothering with her own belt. "I'm just tagging along with you."

"You don't know where I'm going," I inform her, eyes lingering on her face before I look over my shoulder and back out of the driveway.

"It doesn't matter," she responds easily, shrugging.

I fight back a smile and busy myself with flipping through the radio stations, eventually settling for silence, not able to find a song that I want to listen to. I point towards the stereo, my way of telling Bella she can take over, but her focus is out the window.

The breeze whips her tied up hair behind her shoulder, a few loose strands coming forward to brush her cheeks as her eyes take in everything and nothing.

Her expression is one of easiness, maybe boredom, a blank page that I'm waiting to be filled. But then her lips curl just slightly, her thoughts her own, and I wonder what she's thinking about.

The sunlight catches her hair, finding hints of red and gold, and her lips are this sort of dark pink that makes me lick my own in response.

It's the first time I've considered her beautiful and not just interesting.

She's an enigma, a conundrum I have yet to figure out. But everyone has a story, an answer that has the potential to spiral into a thousand others—I'm just still in the dark as to what hers is.

It leaves me both wary and wanting to know what makes her tick; what makes her jump into a car with a guy she barely knows.

_Uninvited_, at that.

She catches me off guard and makes my pulse race. I'm still unsure if that's a good thing or not; unsure of the reasons behind her sudden change of heart and what those decisions are driven by.

It makes me want to pull the truths from her mouth with questions, questions, questions: the light, the ugly, the personal I know she'll ignore.

_Especially_ the personal.

I have a feeling that what I want doesn't factor into this much though, not where Bella is concerned.

Another car passes us on the road, the music that spills from its open windows loud, momentarily filling my ears with lyrics from a song I think I know, but can't remember the name of. Bella starts to hum the same tune before the blue Hyundai has had time to filter out of sight, the sound of her voice low but sweet. It tugs at something inside my chest, and I take another quick look at her, the flats of my fingers running across my mouth as I watch her lips move ever so slightly, pursing and then not.

It hits me all over again how little I know about this girl... and how much I want to.

I recognize her love for the unexpected and her preference for the green bud hidden inside a sticker clad tin. I know she likes to swim late at night and disappear in the middle of a conversation. I like how long her legs are and how her ass looks in the impossibly short shorts she wears.

Her humming suddenly gets louder, and I realize I like the sound of that, too.

Whenever she looks at me her eyes scream secrets and her lips give life to the words that float inside her head, little pieces gifted that aren't nearly enough to form any solid base of opinion. I want to gather her thoughts in rope and bind them together tightly with knots impossible for her nails to pick apart or fingers to unravel; I want to bite at her wrists and taste the truths on my tongue until she gives in and lets me get my way, even if only for a short while.

But something tells me, even after all of that, she still wouldn't back down. I think that may be just one of the things that draws me to her, this ability to twist a situation on its head in the blink of an eye, leaving me with more questions than I started with.

It's frustrating and awe inspiring, and I feel my lips twitch at the very corners, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel when she leans forward to open the glove compartment, uncaring of what I'll think as she finds my old Ray Bans inside.

She doesn't ask if she can wear them, doesn't ask if it's okay to look at the other junk crammed inside the small space before slipping them onto her face.

In fact, she doesn't even turn to look at me before pushing the seat back to put her feet up on the dashboard.

My jaw tightens, nostrils flaring ever so slightly as I draw in a deep breath through my nose. If she hears me, she doesn't let on, her face directed towards the open window and the blue sky above.

I've always been a picky asshole when it comes to keeping my car relatively clean: my friend Garrett would describe it as more of an 'Edward is a pussy' type deal.

He dropped a half full can of Coke on the back seat once and I lost my shit, mostly because I'd only had the car for a few weeks at that point. I was still caught up in that 'scratch the paint job and I'll break your face' new car mode that guys get. He'd laughed and told me to stop being a 'fucking girl' before mopping the spill up with a napkin he'd pulled from the back pocket of his jeans, the one that had come with his burger not half an hour before and was stained all over with mustard.

I remember smoking three cigarettes in the space of twenty minutes and pulling a beer from the fridge as soon as I got home that night, holding a pity party for one.

Bella has no manners and the bottoms of her shoes are dirty: I wonder if her disregard for the things that are not hers is due to learned behavior or the result of a rebellious youth.

My tongue runs over the front of my teeth and I want to bounce my knee. "Do you mind?" I say, unable to stop myself.

Her face turns towards mine, cheek pressed against the headrest behind her. "Do I mind what?" she questions, her voice airy. She's trying to sound as if she's confused, but she isn't fooling anyone. She knows what I'm talking about.

"Your feet," I tell her, pointing to her shoes while keeping my eyes on the road. "They're on my dash."

I hear her laugh, the sound making my chest feel funny. "Good observation skills," she jokingly praises, clucking her tongue. "Where did you learn that special craft, summer camp?"

Her tone is teasing as she attempts to erase my irritation. But I'm not stupid. It's all for her benefit, not mine.

I scratch my jaw, feeling the light layer of stubble beneath my fingertips. "I never went to summer camp," I share, glancing at her briefly.

She quirks a brow. "I find that hard to believe," she replies, her palms resting on her knees as she leans forward a little, legs bending further in her bid to garner my attention elsewhere. "I bet you were also a boy scout."

"Sorry to disappoint you," I mutter, shaking my head. Her eyes are hidden behind my sunglasses, but I know she's looking at me. It also doesn't escape my notice that she's trying to shift the conversation away from herself. "Your feet," I remind her stubbornly.

She reclines back into her seat, silent for a short moment before saying, "How about I give you two options? I can either keep my feet here, on your dash, or put them on your lap..." Her words trail off and I clear my throat, fingers flexing as I hear her skin brush against the leather of her seat._ I wonder what her thighs would feel like under my hands._ "It's your choice," she finishes.

My forearms are warm from the sun, my throat tight from her familiarity, and I laugh without humor, incredulous.

_Is she serious? _

We pause at a stop sign, and as I turn my face towards hers fully, taking in the way her tongue runs along her lips when she catches me staring, I think she is.

"How about you put them on the floor, instead?" I counter, keeping my tone even. It's hard to tell if this is another one of her games or not, and I'm determined to keep my part in it to a minimum, not wanting a repeat of earlier.

"That doesn't work for me," she retorts, her response click of the fingers quick.

I shake my head. "So you only ever do what works for you?" I question, shifting gears as we start moving again. It's not just a smart ass reply either. I'm genuinely interested.

"Always," she assures, her response instant, lips curling up into a smug smile with her revelation.

I nod, noticing it's the answers that are meant to shock that she's so quick to reply to. I lock that detail away for another time and focus on the car in front of us.

"How's that worked out for you so far?" I ask her, guiding the steering wheel beneath my palms as I round a curve in the road.

"Fine. How has _not_ doing any of that affected _you_?" she retaliates.

I shake my head again, the breeze from the open window feeling good against my neck. "We can't always have everything we want, Bella," I try to explain. "Sometimes other people are more important."

She sucks in her left cheek and I wonder if anyone has ever said this to her before. "Says who?" she responds.

I don't have an answer to that one, not one that would make a difference anyway.

Holding back my frustration, I feel my teeth press against each other and tell myself it's not a big deal.

We get to the end of this particular road, and I look both ways before indicating and turning right, past the half rusted-over signpost that signals into the main part of town. We pass by large, open fields filled with sage green bursts of grass embedded inside soil shaded dark terracotta, and the half barren trees—where the branches only start to sprout half way up, tipped in small lime green leaves—bend in odd shapes.

The mountainside is sandy and opposing in the distance, emitting this feeling of both loneliness and safety: when I pull my eyes away, I'm not sure which one dominates.

More and more buildings eventually come into view, tall and white, blinding in the sun as kids scream and chase each other down the street. Bella's feet are still up on the dashboard, but her posture is more alert, semi interested as she gazes out the window at the store fronts we pass.

She glances over her shoulder at a Dairy Queen as we drive by, but says nothing, her attention simply drifting back to the options in front of her. I feel like I should maybe do something to break this silence that has settled over us, turn on the radio or whatever, but then I figure if it was really bothering her, she'd open her mouth and end it. She definitely doesn't seem to be the type of girl who bites her tongue to hold herself back when she has something to say, important or otherwise, and I realize it's a quality I like about her, even if it does frustrate the hell out of me at the same time.

But then I glance at her feet—pink laces in one shoe and brown in the other—and call it even.

Familiarizing myself with the part of town we're now in, I turn left at the end of the street—past the post office but just before the library—and then left again a minute or so after that.

Easing my foot off the gas pedal, my eyes fall to Bella's fingers as they drum to a beat only she can hear. The red stuff coating her nails has become chipped in some places, the pads of her fingers making silent music against her skin as we pull into the church parking lot, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

The Goodwill truck is up ahead, the large black lettering against the white paint familiar as Bella pushes my Ray Bans up into her hair, dark lashes meeting in a blink against the change in light.

"I've gotten so many amazing things from these drop off points," she shares, eyes lighting up as someone dumps a cardboard box full of junk along with the rest of the pile.

She finally drops her feet, and I ask, "What, so you just take stuff?"

A frown overtakes my face and she looks at me like I'm stupid. "Well, yeah. Why wouldn't I?" she questions with a shrug. Adjusting the straps of her red tank top beneath the blue shirt she stole from me, she adds, "I mean, it's free."

Bella toys with the ends of her hair, brushing the strands across her mouth as she watches the worker in his blue vest sort through a black garbage bag that looks to be weighed down with clothing.

"Nothing here is free, Bella. Not unless it was yours to begin with," I remind her. I wait for her to say something, but when she doesn't, I turn around, opening the door to step out into the midday heat.

Shading my eyes, I realize my hands are empty and that I've forgotten to take the keys out of the ignition. I lean back inside, fingers reaching for curved metal, my gaze sweeping along the length of Bella's legs as she stays reclined in her seat, all that bare skin distracting me from what I know I should be doing. She has a bruise on the inside of her thigh, one I failed to notice before, new and a shade of purple that is only going to become darker. It's not overly big, about the same size of a thumbprint, and as her hand slides to the pocket of her shorts to pull out her lighter, hips momentarily pushing up, I wonder if the bruise is self-inflicted or the result of someone else's touch.

My eyes snap to her face then, something akin to jealousy present in the pit of my stomach. It makes no sense, this feeling—_she's not mine_—but the sensation doesn't go away. In fact, it only continues to get worse, especially when she meets my gaze, a small smile gracing her mouth.

Her lips part with her words and my eyes linger on the wet, pink of her tongue. "I guess that makes me special then," she announces, holding me in place with nothing but a look.

A lump forms in my throat and it takes me a moment to realize that she's responding to my answer from before. Pushing my sunglasses back over her eyes, she cuts me off from the only way I really _see _her, shifting sideways in her seat as she opens the door to jump down onto the gravel. Her door shuts behind her in an almost slam, and my heart is racing, the thoughts running through my head, anything but clean.

My chest feels kind of tight, and exhaling heavily, I tell myself to get a grip. The word _tease _comes to mind, but before I allow myself to linger on it, I quickly pull the keys from the ignition, shutting my thoughts down with a locked jaw. Fisting the metal in my palm, I stare at the dirt left behind on the dashboard from her shoes and can't find it in me to care as I straighten back up, slamming my door with more strength than necessary.

Smoke mists the air, the familiar scent of tobacco soon following, and I turn around to see a cigarette at Bella's mouth. She's leaning against the side of the car, legs crossed at the ankles and curling a finger my way. Walking over, I keep some distance between us, shoving my hands into my pockets, I tilt my head back, focusing on a cloud that kind of looks like a ship.

Half a minute must pass and then she's holding out the half gone cigarette to me, arm outstretched while her eyes don't drift from whatever's keeping her attention.

I take it from her wordlessly, flicking the ash before placing the filter between my lips. The taste of smoke coats my tongue before I've even had chance to inhale, and I squint against the resulting burn of paper as I use both hands to push my hair away from my forehead.

Pulling the cigarette back to look at the brand, I take a drag, and another, inhaling twice slowly before dropping it to the ground, changing my mind.

"That one looks like a crocodile," she says suddenly, pointing up to what I presume is a cloud. I follow the line of her finger and frown, thinking it looks more like a scorpion.

"And now?" I ask, reaching over to lift my sunglasses up a little, holding them in line with her brows as I free her eyes.

She laughs, but her answer is the same. "Crocodile," she says decisively.

I stare at her profile for a moment, at the way her lips are pursed and how her right hand is curled around the opposite side of her chest, under her left tit. Then I shield her eyes once more and push myself from the car, knowing the direction my thoughts are trying to lead me in aren't a good idea.

She doesn't offer to help as I open the hatch and I don't ask her to as I place two smaller boxes on top of one another, my fingertips digging into the cardboard as I pick them both up to carry over to the truck. Bella simply lights another cigarette as I pass, then strolls away from the car, opposite to the way I'm going, hair swinging behind her as she takes lazy steps.

Pausing just before the rest of the unwanted junk, I dump both boxes on the ground beside this old lampshade that has a small hole in its side. I repeat this process three more times before remembering the garbage bag full of clothes stashed away in the backseat. It's as I'm making this last trip that I feel Bella come up behind me, shocking me with her contact as she rises up on the balls of her feet, her palms warm on my shoulders and says, "Give me a piggyback ride."

Finding my voice, I look back at her and say, "What, no _please_?" I'm only half serious.

She lifts her right eyebrow, appraising me—_she's so close_. "Do you need one?" she questions.

"Maybe." _No_.

That smile which I'm now beginning to recognize plays at her mouth, the one that lets me know whatever she's about to say is going to be at my expense. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that we can't always have everything we want?" she says, repeating my words from earlier.

She's teasing me and I can't help but smile. She laughs, pulling once on the end of my shirt, before directing us backwards a little.

Holding onto the open door with one hand, the other curved on the roof, she steps up into the car, twisting carefully on the edge of its floor. She tells me to turn around, my back to her front, a smile on her face. Her arms curl around my neck and her legs wrap high up around my waist, her skin so fucking soft when my right hand finds the space just behind her knee. She giggles, tightening her hold as I take a step away from the car, my free hand gripping the bag of clothes tightly as I fight the urge to see if her skin feels just as soft higher up.

Her palms slide down my chest a little as she brings her lips next to my ear, her voice a whisper against my skin. "Choose something," she says.

I walk aimlessly around the parking lot with her on my back, not responding to her instructions for half a minute—not until her lips are at my ear again, quietly explaining herself.

"I'll distract him while you choose something; anything," she says, loosening the grip of her legs around my waist, body sliding down my back until her feet are on the ground.

"What?" I ask as she steps around to face me, already shaking my head in disagreement. "Come on, no."

"Come on, _yes_. What's the big deal?" she argues, placing a hand on her hip. "He's not even paying attention," she whispers, nodding towards the worker whose focus is on angrily tossing shit into the truck.

"This is stupid. I'm not going to steal from the fucking Goodwill drop off," I reply, laughing at her disappointment.

She blinks. "You're such a pussy."

"I'm a _pussy_?" I question, repeating her insult.

I'm on the verge of yanking her smart ass back to the car when she spins on her heel and makes her way towards the attendant. She only glances back once, shooting me a satisfied smile when she hears me groan loudly.

"Bella!" I call out after her. "This isn't funny."

"I'm not laughing!" she shouts back, gaining the worker's attention before she even makes it over to him.

"Fuck," I mutter to myself, running a hand over my mouth.

My focus stays on her for a minute, watching as she says something to make the dude smile, lightly slapping his arm as they laugh together. It momentarily bugs me that I don't know what she's saying to him, but I push down whatever feeling that is and glance around the parking lot, making sure no one is paying attention to me.

Taking a few steps towards the closest box, I dump the bag full of clothes and peer down, trying to spot something I know I'm going to be able to easily hide. I glance back up to make sure Bella and the attendant aren't looking my way, before I reach down and grab the first thing I see, tucking it into the back of my jeans.

I pull the keys from my pocket and quickly walk back over to the car, opening the door to immediately transfer the item from my jeans to the floorboard, just wanting it away from me.

I'm becoming impatient and consider shouting Bella's name to catch her attention, but change my mind when I see her shoving a piece of paper into the pocket of her shorts as she waves goodbye to the dude who stares at her ass as soon as her back is to him.

She turns around and catches me staring her way, a faint smirk forming on her lips, one that forces me to look away.

I'm focusing on the dashboard when the door opens and she climbs in. "Did you get his number or something?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light while slowly pulling out of the lot.

Bella turns in her seat to face me, digging for whatever she shoved in her pocket. "Why? Did you want it?" she teases, wiggling the paper in front of my face.

I shake my head and force out a laugh, my fingers twitching to snatch the paper from her to find out exactly what else is scrawled on it.

She bounces her knees, palms on her thighs as she asks, "So, what did you choose?"

Keeping one hand on the wheel and reaching down with the other, I grab the thing and place it on her lap, watching as her once excited smile contorts to something that looks a lot like disappointment.

"A spatula," she deadpans, just staring at it. "Dude, out of everything you could have taken, you chose a spatula?"

I scoff, snatching the utensil from her hands. "What did you expect me to steal?" I question, throwing it behind me onto the back seat. "There are only so many things that I could have fit into my pocket, _dude_."

"And it had to fit into your pocket because...?" she trails off, her expression letting me know she's unimpressed.

"_Because_," I say, frowning, "I didn't want to get caught." I sigh as she quirks a brow. "I couldn't exactly walk out of there carrying a fucking microwave."

"I stole a pair of skis once," she brags, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Okay," I breathe out, wondering if she wants me to congratulate her. "Well, I'll leave the stealing to you from now on," I mutter, pulling into the gas station to fill up and buy a pack of cigarettes.

Bella merely smiles at me, securely tucking some hair behind her ear. "Giving up so easily," she tuts. "And I thought you had potential."

I'm not sure what she means, nor do I ask.

+.+.+.+.+

I bring my beer to my mouth as another car pulls up outside the Clearwater house, headlights momentarily blinding through the windows before fading to floating colors before my eyes.

This has been happening on and off for the past couple of hours, noise level growing with each new person that joins the party across the street.

By the time Bella and I had returned from Goodwill, there was already a couple of cars parked out front, music blaring from speakers that crackled under the strain of the volume. She'd immediately jumped out to throw her arms around one of the guys' necks, not giving me a second thought, her smile wide as he leaned down to say something in her ear.

I didn't stay around long enough to find out what happened after that.

I'm still not sure what to make of earlier. It seems that every time Bella and I hang out, I end up with more confusion and less answers as she literally runs away from me without a word.

Finishing the last slice of pizza, I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and tell myself not to dwell on it.

I'm flipping through the TV channels when the front door suddenly opens and slams shut, sound lingering as the impact echoes throughout the space.

I know I should probably be concerned over the fact someone has just walked into my house, but the panic ebbs before it's even really begun—after her sudden appearance this morning, I have a feeling I know who it is.

"Do you always leave your front door unlocked?"

I tongue the inside of my cheek, suspicion confirmed. Some part of me realizes I should be pissed that she thinks it's okay to just let herself in here like this. But another part of me—the one that welcomes the feelings she evokes inside me—likes her familiarity.

I don't necessarily understand why, but I'm willing to accept it... for now.

Bella's voice rebounds off the walls before she's even fully come into view, her words loud and maybe just a little slurred.

I hear the scuff of her shoes on the wooden flooring, black Doc Martens filtering into my line of vision before I can be bothered to lift my gaze.

Taking a mouthful of beer, I go to open my mouth now that she's in the living room, the sight of her boot tapping against the floor threatening to curl my lips. But before I can get a single word out, I'm instantly shut down, her question throwing me off what I wanted to say.

"Did you know that roughly thirty percent of all burglaries in the home occur due to an open—or unlocked—door or window?" she questions, looking at me expectantly.

Stunned, I merely shake my head.

Needing a moment, I take another gulp of my drink before clearing my throat. "Nope. Where did you learn that?" I ask, tilting my head when she averts her gaze.

I watch her eyes get a little wider for just a second, and I'm not sure what it is I've said—if anything—that has caused this reaction, but her demeanor noticeably changes.

Or rather, the direction of her questioning does.

"Why aren't you at the party?" she asks loudly, dumping her bag on the floor before sitting next to me on the couch, her legs curling up beneath her despite the fact she's wearing the shortest fucking dress I've ever seen in person.

It's made from this grey and black plaid material, sleeveless, showing off her shoulders and arms: I can't stop looking at her, my eyes drifting everywhere. "Why aren't _you_ at the party?" I challenge, giving her another not so discreet once over.

_Fuck, I don't think she's wearing a bra_.

She doesn't reply, only stares expectantly, waiting for my answer.

Sighing, I say, "Because I wasn't invited." Her brow furrows, and I shrug, unaffected.

"What?" She almost laughs, licking her bottom lip. "You don't have to be invited to a party in order to show up," she scoffs, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, well, unlike you, I don't turn up to places if I haven't been formally invited," I say, shaking my head as I tease her just a little.

Her fingers pick at one of the couch cushions, zip pulled back and forth, reminding me of other things. "You don't _need_ a formal invite because you know _me_," she points out. "I'm there. That's reason enough."

Her eyes seem darker tonight, or maybe it's just the nonexistent light in the room. Either way, the flickering of the TV casts blue shadows against her skin, and I can't seem to shut up. "Ah, but you're here now," I say, lowering my voice as she turns her face from mine.

"Not for long," she snips, movement sudden as she stands from the couch, balance briefly wavering as she teeters on the sides of her boots.

Her emotions run hot and cold, and once again, I'm left wondering what I've said that's brought on this abrupt change of attitude.

"Let's go. Leah was about to light up."

She's giving me no choice, no warning. "No," I argue, my fingers scratching along my jaw.

Her mouth snaps shut, fingers running through the front of her hair as she sucks in one side of her cheek. I watch as her palms smooth over the skirt of her dress. "And why not?" she asks, borderline pouting as she sways slightly.

"Because I don't want to," I explain vaguely, the corner of my mouth lifting as she huffs, my response obviously not good enough for her.

"You should," she disagrees.

"Why? So I can sit there and watch you run around and flirt?"

Her immediate reaction lets me know that I'm right.

"What makes you think I'm a flirt?" she questions, but there's no conviction behind her words.

"Look at you," I murmur, lifting the long neck of my beer to my lips, taking a lengthy gulp to ignore the way she's staring at me.

She doesn't say anything then, and it further proves my perception of her. I have a feeling I'm slowly figuring bits of her out, and I can tell she doesn't like it... not one fucking bit.

"You can go back to the party," I say, keeping my tone even. "But I'm staying here."

Without uttering a word, she keeps her eyes locked on mine as she steps between my open thighs, kicking my feet a little wider apart. My pulse flutters, but I let out an annoyed sigh when she grabs my beer from my hands, finishing the small amount that's left in the bottle before setting it on the floor.

My jaw clenches in an unconscious movement, my words a resulting challenge. "So, Bella. What are you going to do?"

She bends forward just slightly, her hands falling to the couch cushions on either side of my head, face so close to my own I feel her breath wash over my cheek. I keep my hands to myself as she lowers herself down onto my lap, catching me off guard when she straddles me, her thighs bare and distracting as her dress rides up.

She smells of whiskey, sin and girl, and my heart pounds as I feel her warmth everywhere. It heats my blood and warms my cheeks, and my fingers twitch, wanting to touch her everywhere she'll let me.

But she's drunk, high, and while I'm not exactly sober myself, that's a problem.

Or at least I thought so.

Her hands waste no time in reaching out for me, moving from the couch to the sides of my neck, fingers teasing just inside the collar of my t-shirt. I let out a sharp breath, a slight hiss between my clenched teeth, as she leans closer, pressing her chest flush with mine.

Her lips find their place on my jaw, teeth grazing along my neck before pulling away to nip at my earlobe. My lids fall shut as I quickly grow hard beneath her, the weight of her body and what she's doing with her mouth instantly sending a response to my dick. She breathes out a light laugh against my skin, fully knowing what she's doing to me.

My hands move from beside me and latch onto her hips before sliding down her warm body, fingertips grazing the exposed skin just below the curve of her ass. She doesn't hiss or moan or even allow her breathing to change, and this irritates me because of the way she's affecting _me_.

Before my touch glides farther down to find out if she's wearing any underwear—'cause I'm pretty sure she's not—one of her hands slips between us and palms the bulge in my jeans.

Her lips are pressed against my neck again, tongue leaving a trail of fire along my skin as she whispers, "I wanna do something."

I close my eyes and groan, torn with what to do next—it's hard to think clearly when all I want to do is thrust up into her hand, ask her to press a little harder.

It wouldn't be the first time I've fooled around with a girl I've just met, especially after one—or both of us—have been drinking.

I'm still unsure of so many aspects of her life, but the fact that she is so different from anyone else is what appeals to me the most.

_And that's all this was, wasn't it? _

She's a bright spark, the dark electric currently zipping through my veins, the impulse snapping fast at its heels.

Any thoughts of this being wrong quickly fade away as her fingers twitch against me—all I seem to know right now is that I like the way her body feels against mine; like the way she makes me question the important things and discard the rest.

I palm her ass, the thin material of her dress creating a barrier until my fingers slide lower, lower, lower—I'm not surprised to find she's not wearing anything under her dress.

My throat feels tight as I try to push down the resulting jealousy I feel when I start to wonder if she does this often, acts like this with other guys, makes them feel this way about a girl they'll maybe never get to keep.

Eyes opening, focusing over her shoulder, I force myself to speak.

"_Something_," I say, repeating her word from earlier. I'm met with her lustful gaze as she pulls back to look at my face, and I know mine mirrors hers exactly. "Like what?" I add as an afterthought.

Her eyes dart to my mouth before quickly rising back up, her expression making me so fucking hot, my fingertips digging into her thighs in response. She licks her lips and presses forward. "Like... I wanna go smoke," she breathes, hooking her fingers through my belt loops.

She watches me closely, and unable to take it, I tilt my head back and stare up at the ceiling, gritting my teeth. I hear her giggle, feel its vibration against my chest as she slides one hand up my arm to tease the hair at the nape of my neck.

It feels good, but as I take a deep breath, I curl my hands around her wrists and pull her touch away, knowing _good_ is not what I should be feeling right now.

Her demeanor has flipped, spun three-sixty from intense to playful, game playing in full force.

I can sense her eyes on me still, the look in them screaming triumph when I flick my attention her way again. I watch as she pushes her hair from her face, twisting the strands around her wrist before settling it all over one shoulder, her cheeks flushed.

She doesn't smile, doesn't bite her lip, the dark thrill in her gaze communicating everything that needs to be said.

_You win, Bella. You win._

"Sure," I say after a few seconds, swallowing hard. "We can go smoke."

She doesn't linger, her warmth immediately leaving as she crawls out of my lap, her fingers straightening out her dress once she's steady on her feet.

I run my hands through my hair as she bends down for her bag, pulling in a deep breath when she walks right past me into the kitchen without a word. I think about leaving her out there by herself..._ I doubt she'd even care_. It's that thought that pushes me to my feet and forces me out the back door until I feel nighttime brush against me.

Bella sits toward the right side of the yard, away from the pool and lawn chairs, her legs stretched out in front of her, surprising me even though I know it shouldn't. She looks peaceful out here, a contradiction to the chaos she's brought with her each time we've hung out.

I lower myself down next to her on the ground, dragging my heels across the dirt as I bend my legs. I fold my arms across my knees and tilt back my head, looking up at the night's sky, the moon only half full tonight.

She opens the little tin from the other night and produces an already rolled joint, setting it on my knee beside my arm before digging through her bag, muttering something about always losing lighters. Before I can even think about reaching into my pocket to let her use mine, she finds a blue lighter of her own and smiles triumphantly, snatching the joint, claiming it as hers again.

I let out a sigh as I watch her attempt to light up, the cool night breeze doing nothing to help the paper catch fire. Leaning closer to her, I cup my hands around the end of the joint, feeling the heat of the flame along my palms as she clicks the lighter another two times before succeeding.

Her eyes momentarily flick to mine as she inhales deeply, purpose apparent in her gaze and the way she moves. But not for the reason I think. She leans over, allowing her shoulder to brush against mine—but not her lips—as she exhales, blowing the smoke into my open mouth.

I part my lips a little more and suck in everything she gives me, resisting the urge to press forward and capture her mouth, wondering what it would feel like, and if she would let me.

Her tongue glistens behind her teeth, lips still in place, the ends of her hair brushing against my arm just where my sleeve ends, her face so close that, all I can think when I breathe out—wanting to put my mouth to better use—is,_ I'm pretty sure I really fucking want her to._

Dark eyes snap to mine then, making me think she can sense my errant thought, her stare telling as she quickly pulls away from me, the warmth of her arm gone, distance created, barrier firmly back in place.

We both stay quiet, passing the joint between us, Bella's tokes longer than mine as we listen to the bass that thumps from across the street. She flattens the sole of her Doc Martens over the roach when we've finished, before tying her hair up from her neck, something I noticed she did the last time we smoked together.

Lying back, she stretches her legs out further and stares up at the night's sky. "It's quiet here," she murmurs, my back meeting the ground as I follow suit and mimic her current position.

My lids feel heavy, like I could sleep, the warm air and surrounding sounds a thick blanket of drowsiness. "Do you not hear the music?" I ask her.

"I hear the music," she says, and without turning to look at her, I can hear the smile in her voice. "But still, it's quiet."

"Quieter than what you're used to?" I question after a moment, hearing her hum in reply.

I should stop the questions here, I know I should, but my mouth is tyrant, my curiosity spreading, my hesitancy moonlit brave.

"Five things," I say evasively, feeling her eyes on me, her quiet sigh surrounding us as she carries on staring, wanting my attention. It pushes me to remember her attitude this afternoon, in the garage, when I pulled away from her eyes then, too. But I don't want to look at her right now. She'll distract me from what I want to ask her. "You said we were friends, right?" I press after a moment.

"Sure," she answers, drawing the word out, her tone anything but convincing.

I try not to question it as I add, "Tell me five things about yourself."

I'm met with nothing but silence, her answer not forthcoming, which doesn't surprise me. She's shown no indication of wanting to share anything personal about herself, important or otherwise, and I'm pushing, I know I am, but in this moment, I feel I can't_ not_.

I hold back a sigh and rub my hands over my face, trying to distract myself. When she finally replies, she tells me, "This is a stupid game."

I no longer feel her eyes on me, that awareness that burns a hole in my flesh gone. "It's not a game," I insist, giving into temptation as I roll over onto my side to face her, propping myself up on my forearm. "It's what friends do, get to know one another." She says nothing. "And besides, I thought you liked to play games?"

I focus on her profile, the glow from the moon highlighting her face, her lashes unblinking as she stares up into the darkness.

I'm not sure if this silence she's holding on to is due to the fact she's taking her time to gather her thoughts, or if it's simply her way of ignoring me completely. Changing my aim, I concede, "Or one thing. Just tell me one thing. The rest can wait."

Her reticence continues long after I'm out of things to say to convince her to open up to me. I don't know why I'm trying, but even more than that, I don't know why it's so hard for her to _tell _me.

It's not until I've given up and return to lying on my back, my focus no longer on her, that I hear her speak. "I'm good at leaving," she finally answers, her voice flat.

I gather my thoughts, knowing I should keep my next words simple to ensure she'll answer me, when all I really want to know is if there's someone she's left behind, and if so, why.

"It's always that easy... just leaving?" I ask instead, turning my face towards hers.

I swallow thickly, my chest tight as I watch her lips part.

My immediate thought is that I think she's going to lie to me. My second is that I'm not sure I'll care if she does.

"It's always that easy," she repeats quietly, meeting my eyes for just a moment before looking back up at the stars.

I sit up then, shifting my weight to one side as I shove my hand into the pocket of my jeans, reaching for my pack of cigarettes. Bella remains where she is, body unmoving... but her words, they churn through my head as I light my smoke, grinding like disbanded metal.

That feeling brushes against my skin again, and I wonder if she's watching me. I want to glance sideways and read her expression, figure out the truth behind her words, but on tone alone... her admission doesn't feel like a lie.

If anything, it feels more like a promise.

The music continues, and I take another drag of my cigarette, blowing smoke into the darkness until nothing is left but ash and discarded warnings.

* * *

**Thanks and cupcakes go to Susan for being our amazing beta. And thanks to y'all for reading. Y'all can have cupcakes too. Cupcakes for everyone! **

**Reviews will get a teaser for the next chapter. **

**See y'all soon. xx**


	3. Cinnamon Toast Crunch

**Disclaimer: ****No beagles will be harmed during the process of writing this story.**

* * *

_May 2008_

* * *

Edward

Bella is the poster child for high right now. She's all silly smiles and half-hooded lids as she watches me take a mouthful of my juice, skin pale but cheeks pink from the sun. The whites of her eyes are bloodshot and her tongue runs across her lips a lot, a tightness present everywhere every time she does it.

Her eyes dip lazily to her fingers as she twists another small braid through a thin section of her hair, giving the first one a partner, her teeth unconsciously grazing over her bottom lip while she concentrates.

My chest is bare, my t-shirt tied and twisted at the hip of the girl opposite me—it's the third time she's stolen one of my shirts this week.

We've spent most of the day in my backyard, swimming and smoking and generally doing nothing. That was until Bella said she was hungry and suggested I make her food, which naturally resulted in me pointing to the kitchen and where the cereal was kept, because fuck if I know how to cook.

I take another gulp of juice, the orange citrus sour at the back of my throat as I watch her tighten the strings of her yellow bikini top around her neck, holding back a smirk when she complains about her arms feeling heavy and her muscles aching.

"You still have to tell me four things about yourself," I prompt her, throwing her a playful glare when she pulls a less than enthusiastic face.

I've been reminding her all week about the deal we made last Friday, and so far she hasn't given in; hasn't played along. I watch as she arches a brow and it doesn't look like she will today, either, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try.

She licks her lips again and my eyes follow the movement of her tongue, not protesting when she reaches out to steal my bowl of cereal.

"I don't like peanut butter," she shoots back in response, shoveling a spoonful of Lucky Charms into her mouth. She chews slowly, her nose wrinkling, features morphing into a frown.

"I'm being serious," I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Yeah, and so am I. Peanut butter is fucking gross... and so is _this_," she says, pushing the bowl of cereal back in front of me before standing from the table.

I sigh and hold the loaded spoon in front of my mouth, quietly cursing to myself when milk drips onto my shorts. "Come on," I urge, watching her rise to the balls of her feet as she opens and closes each cabinet in search of something else to eat. "Tell me something real; something that no one else knows."

"God, you're so nosy," she scolds distractedly, pulling out a bowl from one of the bottom cupboards. "I'm sorry if my dislike of peanut butter isn't interesting enough for you, but it's true."

I look on as she walks over to the pantry, sifting through the cans and boxes on the shelves, stretching for the things she can't reach only to put them back again not two seconds later. "You didn't buy any more Cinnamon Toast Crunch?" she wonders, her voice dying off as she reads the label on the back of a can.

I find myself shaking my head even though her back is to me. "I didn't know I had to."

This has become a routine of sorts during the past week. Bella will come over here every day, either letting herself into the house or backyard. It's usually around noon, and she's normally hungover, but I say nothing—it's nice to have the company.

More often than not, she'll dig through the pantry for food before dragging me along to join her outside at the pool, or sometimes, when it's too hot to swim, she'll moan and stretch out across the sofa instead, asking if I can turn the air conditioning up any higher.

"So?" I ask vaguely, wasting my breath, knowing any attempt in trying to receive an actual, honest answer from her will be next to impossible.

"Give it up," she utters, releasing an annoyed sigh as she sets the bowl and her chosen box of cereal—Golden Grahams—on the table.

"_You _give it up," I counter, staring at her barely covered ass when she walks towards the fridge. It's getting progressively harder to ignore the effect she has on me, especially when she walks around all day in her bikini or those fucking tiny shorts she likes to wear.

"When do you go back to school?" she asks out of the blue, quickly changing the subject.

My gaze is lingering on her body when I realize the reason for her sudden switch in topic. She's staring at the magnet I'd been given during orientation three years ago. It has the school logo and some lame quote that I can never remember—naturally my mom stuck it on the fridge in order to bring up to anyone unlucky enough to get dragged into a conversation about me.

Holding back a groan, I reply, "Mid-August." And then, "I'm not really looking forward to it."

"No?" she questions, looking at one of the pictures amidst the clutter on the door before reaching inside the fridge to grab the milk. "Do you have some overbearing girlfriend waiting for you or something?"

I finish the last of my juice and feel my brows crease. "I don't have a girlfriend," I tell her, not sure what to make of her question. "You think I'd be hanging out with you this much if I did?"

She sits across from me, shrugging. "Yeah, why not?"

Her nonchalance over the fact I may have had a girlfriend this entire time catches me off guard. I lower my glass back to the table and try to read her expression, but just like everything else about her, she's keeping this a secret as well.

"Do you have an overbearing _boyfriend_?" I ask, flipping the questioning back to her.

She laughs lightly, stealing the spoon from my bowl for her own use. "I don't know of any guys I'd want to be my boyfriend, overbearing or not."

This surprises me. _"No one?" _I question, leaning back in my seat.

"Not really," she says around a mouthful of cereal, glancing up at me.

I hesitate for only a moment before asking, "Not even that one dude you were hugging at Leah's party last week?"

My eyes leave her face, gaze drifting out to the backyard, hating how obvious I'm being.

"_Jasper?" _she asks, and I shrug, because I don't know the guy's name. "Nah. We don't fuck anymore," she tells me bluntly.

The only reaction I allow myself to have is one of amusement, mostly because I can sense her eyes are still on me. What I feel inside isn't so controlled though—I recognize jealousy when I feel it.

"Poor guy didn't make the cut, or what?" I say lightly, but truly wanting to know.

Her eyes flick back to her food, focus redirected. "Something like that," she responds evenly. We're both quiet for a moment before she breaks the tension with the sound of her voice. "You need to get rid of this shit and buy some Cinnamon Toast Crunch."

I hold back a sigh. "Or you could buy your own cereal," I point out.

She says nothing more, and knowing the conversation is over, I stand from the table and dump my bowl in the sink.

+.+.+.+.+

When I check my phone for the time, I'm surprised to find it's nearing eight in the evening.

Though the sun is slowly beginning to fade below the horizon, sinking into chalky peach, there's still an intensity to its rays—one that warms Bella's features in the best of ways.

I look over to where she's lying, wondering if she's fallen asleep. She has an arm draped over her forehead and a book resting on her stomach, her chest pink from the sun as it rises and falls with each breath she takes.

She appears almost vulnerable like this, lost to the sun's drowsy heat, and for a moment, I can't look away.

I abruptly wonder where her parents are and if they miss her. It's a stupid thought, but she's someone's little girl, and yet, here, she's no one's at all.

Her head turns just a small amount to the left on the back of her lawn chair, mouth soft, brows relaxed and breathing even.

She seems older than me sometimes, and maybe that's because she's experienced more of life than I have. I get the impression she's been a part of situations I'd rather not know about, but that's the thing about curiosity, it never lets up. It builds and builds like water pressure until you find your lips moving and tongue working and questions set free.

There's something about her that's impossible to ignore, the obvious one being that despite her free nature, it's evident she shields herself with this hard exterior I'm not sure reaches all the way inside.

She stirs again, some of her hair coming forward to cover her cheek. I almost want to reach out and tuck it back behind her ear when someone calls out her name from across the yard.

"Bella?"

My head snaps in the direction of the voice, eyes squinting in an effort to make out its owner.

A girl with straight, dark hair is uninvitedly walking through my backyard; beer in one hand, cell phone in the other. I pull myself up into a sitting position, my hand a makeshift visor above my lids as I try to place her.

Her actions remind me a lot of the girl beside me, and it soon becomes obvious who she is, her features semi-familiar without the glare of the sun.

My gaze flicks back to Bella, her eyes now open, my Ray-Bans lifted to her hair as she licks her lips lazily, expression carrying the remnants of sleep while she watches her friend make her way over to us.

Leah is all long, tanned limbs and annoyed scowls when she sits down on the end of Bella's chair. She ignores me completely; her stare expectant on her friend as she nudges her ankle with her beer, waiting for her to pull up her legs and give her more room.

"What's up, Lee?" Bella asks, bringing her knees to her chest.

I rake my fingers through my hair, pushing the strands up from my forehead as my eyes shift between the two of them.

"I've been texting you," Leah says, raising a hand in order to make out Bella's expression: blank and uninterested.

"Have you?" Bella says blandly. And then, "My phone's not on me." She grabs the can of beer from Leah's hand, eyes momentarily meeting mine before focusing back on her friend.

Silence lingers heavily over the three of us, and after what feels like minutes have passed, I swing my legs around and place my feet on the concrete; unable to take any more of the suffocating awkwardness, I lean forward and focus my attention on Leah as I say, "I'm Edward."

She still doesn't turn to me; the only sign she's heard me at all is in the slight nod that follows my words.

"So this is who you've been wasting time with," Leah muses, narrowing her eyes at Bella in curiosity.

I run a hand over my jaw and lean back into my seat, a humorless smile flitting to my mouth as my stubble scratches my palm.

_Okay then._

They don't seem all that close as far as friends go—I don't know why this surprises me, but it does. I thought for sure they'd be more alike, and they are in some ways, but Leah seems a lot more disengaged than Bella, more so in the way she moves and speaks.

Leah avoids my eyes when she finally introduces herself, giving me the barest amount of her attention. I murmur a hi and give a brief glance to Bella's face, intent on gauging her reaction, but just like the girl opposite her, her stare is fixed on something other than me.

"Did you need something?" Bella asks once the pleasantries—or in this case, not so pleasant—are out of the way.

Pulling back her long hair with an elastic tie from her wrist, Leah mutters, "The keys to the truck."

"They should be in my bag on the dresser," Bella replies, setting the empty can on the ground.

Leah shakes her head. "They're not in your bag," she counters. "I already looked."

"What do you want me to do?" Bella retorts, reaching over to grab the pack of cigarettes from under my chair. "You need to look harder."

Leah rolls her eyes, her mouth straightening into a thin line, and then she's putting all of her attention on me, watching as I pull my lighter from my pocket.

I avert my gaze from her intense stare, nodding when Bella asks if I want a cigarette as well.

She's making me feel uncomfortable, and more than anything, I want Leah to turn her eyes from my face and leave, but she's Bella's friend, so I grit my teeth and keep my mouth shut, trying hard not to let my irritation show.

"Jasper's been asking about you," Leah suddenly says, my jaw immediately clenching with her statement, control a moment away from unraveling.

I don't miss the way her eyes linger, intent on gauging my reaction; don't miss the tone of her voice in her clear attempt to rile me up.

I pull on the back of my neck, muscles straining as Bella laughs, the sound devoid of all humor.

She shakes her head and I'm not stupid, I know this mention of Jasper is merely for my benefit, to elicit a certain reaction from me.

_Jealousy._

I'd be a liar if I said it wasn't working.

I flip the lighter between my palms as they stare back at one another, lost in some type of silent conversation.

My knee bounces, frustration a pulsing shift that urges me to get up and walk back into the house, away from girls and their bullshit drama. But I can't, and I feel like an idiot, waiting on something I'm pretty sure isn't going to happen.

Bella breaks eye contact first, all attitude as she mutters, "Good for Jasper."

Her answer isn't what I was expecting. It's noncommittal and fails to explain how she really feels about this guy, suspending me in the purgatory of my own curiosity.

Leah cracks a smile and stands to her feet, pleased with her interference. "Well? Are you coming?" she wonders, sliding her phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

"I'll be over in a second," Bella replies, staring at her finger as it traces invisible patterns along her bare thigh.

Leah doesn't bother uttering a goodbye as she shoots Bella a pointed look; she lazily strolls out of the backyard, slamming the gate with more force than necessary.

"She's... nice," I hedge slowly, tightening my jaw, trying to keep my emotions under control.

"No, she's not," Bella disagrees, the laugh that escapes her this time laced with humor. "She's a bitch."

"Why do you hang out with her then?" I ask, genuinely interested in why anyone would want to be friends with someone as difficult and antagonistic as Leah seems to be.

An annoyed sort of smile graces her mouth, her blinks quick. "You're friends with _me_," she points out, pulling her eyes from mine and opening the pack of cigarettes.

I feel my brows furrow. "You're not like her," I declare, even though I know my words will probably fall on muted ears.

She rubs the side of her cheek, her fingers moving to her hair. "You said you wanted a cigarette, right?" she asks with wide eyes, changing the subject.

I swallow, nodding my assent while looking back at her. She holds her hand out, and I reach forward, fingers barely brushing as I take the cigarette from her palm. I attempt to keep my expression void of any emotion, especially when she turns in her lawn chair, purposely trying to distract me with her touch when she presses her knees to mine.

I end up having to click the lighter three times before the flame sticks, thankful for the distraction under her watchful gaze.

Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments, and then we're both leaning forward, the ends of our cigarettes almost touching, tips burning a reddish orange.

I cup my hand around the flame despite the fact there's no breeze tonight, a habit I still haven't broken out of as I inhale slowly. Smoke filters out between us, and I glance up, wanting her eyes; disappointment settles inside my gut when I find she's no longer looking at me, her attention settled on bright orange heat instead.

Releasing my thumb, the flame quickly disappears, and so does Bella as she leans back against the chair. She's gotten what she wanted—temporary relief—while I'm still stuck with this cloying level of frustration.

We smoke in silence, only loud exhales and thin clouds of smoke filling the air. She doesn't bring up Leah again, and she definitely doesn't touch the subject of Jasper and why he's been asking about her. I'm interested, maybe even nosy, but I keep my emotions in check, my words and accusations kept hostage on my tongue.

I take my time, holding the smoke in my lungs a little longer than usual, my way of keeping myself from saying something stupid and immature to make her react.

"I guess I'm out of here," she says once she's put out her cigarette, tossing the pack into my lap.

"Okay." I nod, brows pulling together as I pretend my sudden shitty mood is solely due to the bits of ash that have dirtied my lap.

She disappears inside for a few minutes before returning with her phone clutched in her right hand, lips pressed together tightly. I clear my throat and pull out another cigarette, trying to ignore her completely.

I know who she's about to hang out with right now and I blow smoke over my shoulder, because I have no say. I don't even know if I _want _a say, but even if I did, I'm not sure she's the type of girl to let me have one.

"Hey," she calls out from the gate, and I look up, meeting her narrowed eyes. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

I don't give her a response, and she doesn't bother waiting for one.

+.+.+.+.+

Two days pass with no contact from Bella. If I let myself really dwell on it, I think I miss her being around, so I try not to. Her truck is in the driveway and I can hear sounds escaping from the windows, which means I could go over there now, but I don't. We've never addressed it, but there's almost this unspoken rule in which she'll come to me and not the other way around.

I glance at the clock and tap my knuckles against the coffee table before getting to my feet. It's late to be heading to the store, but I'm out of milk, and if I'm being honest with myself, I'm merely using this as an excuse to get out of the house.

I lock up behind me and am heading to my car when a voice I recognize all too well gives me reason to pause.

"Where are you going?" Bella yells from across the road.

I hate this control she seems to have over my brain and limbs. My jaw tightens and I shrug, knowing she won't be able to see my reaction. It's nearing nine o'clock and I forgot to turn on the porch light, darkness already surrounding us.

"I'm going into town," I answer vaguely, wondering if she's actually interested or just trying to make conversation since she's been gone the past couple of days.

"This late?" she interrogates, and I merely swing my keys around my index finger. Then, "So am I," she says before I'm able to open my car door. I hesitate with my fingers on the handle, waiting for her next words. "You wanna go with me?" she offers. "I'll drive."

I sigh heavily, not sure there's any use in trying to avoid her. The main problem with that is I don't _want_ to avoid her.

Looking back over to where she's standing, clad in those tiny jean shorts she likes to wear, I feel defeat wash over me.

"Alright," I agree, rubbing a hand over my mouth as I cross the road.

She nods, a half smile pulling at her lips. "Let me go get my keys," she tells me before jogging back inside the house.

I unlock the door and pull myself up into the cab of her truck; though the windows are rolled down, it smells of sunscreen and marijuana, two scents I don't find all too unpleasant when mixed together. I survey the clutter that takes up a good amount of space, resisting the urge to look through the few letters and other bits of paper I see in front of me.

Hearing the front door slam shut, I sit up straighter against the vinyl and watch as Bella slides in next to me on the seat.

"So," she starts, peering up at me before looking away again. "Long time no see." Her smile is forced as she steals the words I used on her two weeks ago in my garage. I'm not sure what to make of them; not sure what she means by using them now.

My fingers tap a beat against my thigh while she shoves the key into the ignition, successfully starting the truck on her third try. "Yeah, I guess," I say. And then, "Where have you been?" I make sure to keep my tone even, my words light.

She's quiet for a moment, her hair tangling around her cheeks from the open window. "I've been waiting for you to buy more Cinnamon Toast Crunch," she scolds playfully, keeping her focus on the road. "Remember?"

My lips twitch with an almost smile even though I'm not sure I want them to. "How do you know I haven't bought any?" I ask.

"I _don't _know," she utters, taking a right instead of a left—the wrong way if she's wanting to head into town, like she claims.

"Where are you going?" I question, staring out of the window, not able to make out much that isn't dimly lit from the soft yellow glow of her headlights.

"What?" she asks, obviously confused. "I thought we were going to town?"

"So did I," I say distractedly as I glance behind us. "You were supposed to turn back there," I tell her.

"This is a shortcut," she states confidently.

I shake my head. "It's not. I grew up here; I'd know."

"Whatever," she mumbles.

I'm not sure if she really thinks she's taking a shortcut, or if it's just that she doesn't want to admit she took a wrong turn. Either way, I decide it doesn't matter, anxious to see how this all plays out.

"What have you been up to?" I ask instead, trying my hardest to read her expression in the dark cab.

"Not much," she replies, her tone coated with attitude, evidently still annoyed with my interference.

She doesn't offer the question back, and too tired to argue with her, I scratch my jaw and stare out the window.

We ride in silence for another five minutes, until her truck is making a sound that I've never heard any vehicle make, producing thick, dark smoke from under the hood.

"Shit, B. Pull over," I say, coughing when the smoke becomes so intense it's hard to see much out the windshield.

"What the fuck?" she mumbles in irritation, carefully steering off the dirt road and slowing the truck to a complete stop. "This always happens."

I turn to face her, incredulous. "What do you mean _this always happens_?" I question, sounding more angry than first intended.

"It's an old piece of shit. What did you expect?" she scoffs, reaching down to pull a lever, popping the hood before jumping out.

I open my door and follow after her, waving her off when she attempts to inspect the damage herself.

The hood metal is warm under my palms, and unable to see much, I squint my eyes and ask, "Do you have a flashlight?"

"What?" she asks.

"A flashlight? It's too dark out here. I can't see anything," I tell her calmly.

She raises her brows. "How do you know about cars?" she wonders instead, putting me on the spot as she completely ignores the first part of my question.

I can feel her eyes on me, and pause before admitting, "I don't, not really."

"So let me get this straight," she starts with a laugh. "You want a flashlight, even though you don't know what the fuck you're doing?"

I slam the hood closed and take a deep breath. "I have a friend who owns a small garage in Corona. I can get him to look at it for you tomorrow, if you want?" I offer.

Her smile is still in place despite the exasperation that coats her tone when she questions, "Okay, but what do we do _now_?"

I look back the way we came, my brows furrowing as my hands find the back of my head. "It's about a twenty minute walk to my house," I say, exhaling heavily. "We should head back, I guess."

I wait patiently as she digs through her truck, looking for her cell phone, only to have her realize she left it back at the house with Leah.

The darkness that was lurking around the edges engulfs us fully once the headlights are turned off, swallowing us like a pill. It takes a moment for our eyes to adjust to the lack of light, the road only just visible as we begin walking, our boots scuffing the dirt as we go.

"You shouldn't drive around alone, you know," I say in a quiet voice, feeling her arm brush against mine by accident.

She laughs and says, "Yeah, yeah. Okay, Dad."

"No, I'm being serious," I press. "What would you have done if I wasn't here?" My irritation is fully present when I say, "You didn't even have a fucking phone with you."

She comes to a halt, her words cutting. "Chill," she snaps, running her fingers through her hair. "I'm sure it would've been fine. I always find someone to help me out," she explains defensively.

"And, what, that makes it safe?" I snap back. She narrows her eyes and I murmur a _fuck_ before inhaling deeply.

I shouldn't care if she drives around alone at night in a shitty truck; I shouldn't care if she lets strangers help her when she's in need. But I do. I just _do_.

We carry on walking, a little more distance between us this time. She's not looking at me as I say, "If you need me to, I can drive you to town when we get back to my house."

She thinks for a moment, then asks, "Do _you _still need to go into town?"

I shake my head. "No. I can just go tomorrow." She almost stumbles, her fingers curling around my arm when I reach out to steady her. She whispers a thanks before quickly dropping her hand, my sigh contained when I add, "But really, I don't mind giving you a ride."

I watch as her teeth graze her bottom lip, her tongue shortly following. "No, it's okay. It was nothing important," she informs me, eyes flitting to mine before focusing back ahead.

Ten minutes into our walk, we're greeted with the glowing lights of a nearby house. I remember passing it when Bella took her "shortcut", so I'm comforted knowing we're heading in the right direction. We're a good fifty yards away from it, but I can see the light spray of water from the sprinklers misting the air.

"What's your last name?" I ask out of the blue.

She wrinkles her nose like it's the most random question she's ever been asked. "What?"

"I want to know your last name."

She fixes her eyes on me, her gaze challenging. "Will this count as one of the five things I'm supposed to reveal to you about myself?"

"No," I say with a grin. "Oh, and I still say you not liking peanut butter doesn't count."

"Whatever," she sighs, rolling her eyes. I don't think she's going to tell me, but she surprises me by saying, "It's Swan."

I take a glance in her direction, more than a little skeptical. "Like the bird?" I ask dumbly.

She laughs. "Do you know of any other swans?"

I smile in spite of myself. "Bella Swan."

The name rolls off my tongue and I want to pull her closer, especially when the warm garden lights from the house we're passing shine on her face, allowing me to see what I think is vulnerability in her gaze before she has time to look away.

I feel my brows furrow, and am about to ask her if she's okay when she beats me to the question.

"You know what we should do?" she asks me, not waiting for an answer before she takes off running towards the house.

I immediately glance up at the windows, at the darkness beyond the glass. "What the fuck are you doing?" I hiss.

But when I look back at her, my anxiety fizzles out. I find myself smiling in amusement as I watch Bella run onto the lawn, spinning in circles through the sprinklers.

Her arms are out, and she's releasing shrieks as the water soaks every inch of her. It's obvious she doesn't care if the owners of the house come out and find two strangers in their yard; it's obvious she doesn't care about much.

"Come on. You know you want to," she playfully goads, tipping her head back and laughing lighter than I've ever heard.

I shake my head, keeping my feet firmly planted on the road where I'm safe and dry and able to keep my eyes on this insanely beautiful girl.

"Edward," she says with authority. "Get the fuck over here. Now."

When I don't comply with her orders, she runs over to where I'm standing, almost losing her footing and slipping in the wet grass. I don't bother with pushing her away or getting angry when her wet hands yank my shirt, pulling me into the sprinklers with her.

It's not like she's strong enough to force me to do anything, anyway. I want to be out here with her, but I needed her to make the first move; to show some sort of interest.

"See? It's fun." She shakes with laughter, and then we're both standing still while the chaos of sprinklers spray around us.

I stare down at her smiling face, feeling so much larger compared to her tiny frame, and it suddenly hits me: I want to kiss her so fucking badly. It's all I want. The feeling pushes against my chest, and I'm no longer smiling.

I can't help it. I _want_ her.

Her chest begins rising and falling, harder than before, and I fear she seems to sense something has changed; or maybe she's already bored with this game and is ready to leave.

Without a word, she nods towards the gates and just like that, we're back on the road; back on track to nothing.

+.+.+.+.+

Bella walks ahead of me, my eyes glued to the wet denim that clings to her ass.

She removed her boots just as the house came into sight, pausing to tie them together by their laces so they were easier to carry, refusing my help when I offered to give her a piggyback the rest of the way.

She hasn't spoken to me since forcing me under the sprinklers; hasn't looked at me. But it doesn't matter. She always has so much skin on display; I want to know what it would feel like, what it would taste like.

The breeze cools my sticky skin and I take a moment to appreciate the smile on Bella's lips. It's free from ulterior motives—unaccompanied by a teasing glance or wandering fingers. It's just there, a sight that I feel all the way inside my chest, flicking at my bones.

I pat my jeans, searching for my keys, brows furrowing when my pockets come up empty. My hands move to my hair and I tilt my head to the sky, holding back a groan.

_Fuck._

"Edward?"

Her voice calls out to me, my course of vision redirected as I look down my nose to where she's standing.

Bella's back is to me, but her palm is raised high, her shirt hovering above the waistband of her shorts as she keeps her hand suspended mid-air. The curve of her spine is on display and my fingers itch to trace its path, follow its dip, pull her to me; tilt her head and capture her lips with mine.

That urge to kiss her from earlier is still here, pounding out its familiar and insistent rhythm. But just like then, I stamp it down and cover it with bricks, refusing it the escape it wants.

My eyes follow the line of Bella's arm, her other weighed down with her boots. Her finger is curled, keys dangling around the bend, a clear taunt even without the addition of her gaze.

I'm a stupid boy who should know better than to get caught up in a girl like her.

Reducing the distance between us, I reach for the keys, my free hand closing around her hip, keeping her steady as my fingers meet her skin. She feels cold and warm at the same time, and I have to stop myself from thinking about what her skin would feel like against my mouth.

"You should be more careful," she scolds lightly, clicking her tongue. "These could have gotten into the wrong hands."

"And, what, they're not now?" I ask her, tangling my fingers with hers, key metal warm between our palms.

I hear the smile in her voice even if I can't see it. "You don't trust me?" she questions, all mock shock and annoyance.

I keep my tone purposely light, a comparison to my words, their meaning suddenly heavy. "If you remember rightly, you told me you weren't a good person." I think back to that first night and the conflicted expression she wore. "I'm not sure if it's wise for me to trust you."

Her palm becomes lazy in mine, my hand supporting our airborne hold before I slowly lower both of our arms back to our sides. "How can you be so sure I wasn't lying?" she asks, leaning her head back against my shoulder.

I look down and focus on her mouth, my honesty also my stupidity. "Because my gut tells me pretty much everything you've told me so far has been a lie..." I trail off, taking a breath, my throat thick. "I guess it's just all the same to me—unidentifiable."

"That doesn't bother you?" she questions, staring up at the darkness, lost in her thoughts.

_Yes. No. I'm not sure it matters. _

"I didn't say that," I say quietly, my frustration a roar that gets concealed within her hand as I squeeze her fingers lightly.

She says nothing more, immediately sliding out of my touch, taking the keys with her as she twists the metal inside the lock, opening the front door.

I guide my palm from my jawline to the back of my neck, sighing heavily, wishing I'd kept my mouth shut.

Bella isn't the type of girl to stick around when a situation becomes uncomfortable. I've been witness to her quick departures on more than one occasion; involved in her abrupt goodbyes without the actual word.

She told me herself, how easy it is to leave—a place, a person—connections cut with reversing tires.

_I shouldn't have said anything. _

I take the remaining steps to the front door just as she walks inside, pausing once in the foyer. Her lip gets caught between her teeth, her boots clutched in her left hand while she runs the fingers of her right through her damp hair.

"Are you staying?" I ask, watching her shift her gaze back outside as I lean against the door frame.

With the addition of the light, I can see that her shirt has become practically see-through, her black bra visible beneath the white cotton as she turns to face me fully. I try really hard not to stare at her chest, and I think I succeed... for the most part.

"What did you want to do?" she quizzes, looking me over, lashes dipping low before blinking back up.

Her stare lingers and I think _a lot of things._

"We can watch a movie... if you want?" I suggest, rapping my knuckles lightly against the doorjamb.

She licks her lips before turning her focus to the side, her hand back in her hair. "Sure," she says slowly, nodding.

She lifts her bag from across her body and drops it to the floor along with her boots, surprise coursing through me when I see where her gaze is directed—where she's _headed_.

"Where are you going?" I ask dumbly, reaching my arm out to close the front door behind me, my attention still all on her.

She pauses after a few steps, fingers making small sweeping movements back and forth along the wall. "To your bedroom," she answers easily, glancing back over her shoulder before continuing.

My reply gets caught in my throat as shock dulls my tongue. But maybe that's a good thing. My stomach warms and tightens as my eyes follow her ascent—I'm not sure what I would have said to her anyway.

Bella has shown nothing but a strong sense of independence and a frustrating trait of stubbornness since crashing into my life a little under two weeks ago. Her eyes will narrow or her brows will arch; her arms will either fold across her chest or she'll reach her hands up to run through her hair.

They all have something in common though: a connecting silence.

Sometimes I think I'm out of my depth, but then she'll make me laugh or give me a look, her eyes excited, and that thought will die off, like flames under the influence of water.

I copy one of her tells now as I rake my fingers through my hair, wanting to follow her but questioning whether I should. But then I catch her gaze just as she disappears around the corner, the decision made for me as my feet begin to move.

My bedroom door is partly open when I reach the end of the hallway, light spilling out into the otherwise dim space. I find Bella standing in the middle of my room, the perfect position to take everything in. She turns in a slow circle, eyeing my unmade bed and the few remaining books and CDs I didn't take with me when I left for school.

Her expression isn't inquisitive or disinterested; it's more accepting, as if this is me and what she's looking at makes sense. She seems younger suddenly, her eyes wide, fingers toying with the frayed ends of her jean shorts.

I'm reminded of her age; reminded that she_ is _young: eighteen, headstrong and pretty. It makes me wonder where home is for her and if the bedroom she gets to call her own is a true representation of the girl I see before me.

"So, this is your room?" she says, winding her hair around her wrist before pushing it back over her shoulder.

We've never hung out in here before; she's never asked to see it. Her eyes meet mine and I nod and say a simple, "Yeah."

"It's kind of empty," she notices, taking another look around before turning to sit on my bed. Her elbows hit the mattress as she reclines a little, legs outstretched in front of her, feet hovering above the floor but not quite touching it, making me think of other things.

She looks so at ease: I wonder what sounds she'd make if I touched her the way I want to; wonder if her chest would flush if I licked my way down from her neck to her tits.

I lean against the wall and clear my throat, feeling the burn of her gaze as I stare up at the ceiling. "I don't actually live here, remember?" I remind her, fingers curling under the collar of my shirt, scratching lazily. "I'm only here for the summer."

I hear the sound of her feet tapping lightly against the wooden floor when she asks, "Do you have an apartment?"

I catch her legs swinging from my periphery—she's trying to gain my attention, but I don't give it to her, not yet. She looks too at home on my sheets, making me feel hot, hinting at things I know she'll suggest but won't give.

I slide my hands into my pockets, feeling the brush of denim against my palms. "Yeah, I have an apartment," I answer her, pretty sure she already knows this.

The springs in my bed whine, the noise etching itself into my bones. "What's it like?" she questions, her voice low and light and persuasive.

I hear her shift again, pushing and pushing, weakening my resolve—I'm too tired to play this game with her tonight.

Lowering my gaze from the ceiling, I turn my focus back to her, throwing her a smirk as I say, "Small."

She rolls her eyes and sits up straighter, curving her fingers around the edge of the mattress as she tries to hold back her amusement. "Do you share it?"

I hold her stare, swallowing thickly when she parts her legs a little; I wonder why she cares, why she's asking. "Is that an offer?" I say jokingly, turning my focus to her mouth as I watch her lips twitch with another almost smile. "You wanna become roomies?"

She laughs at this, reply breathy in sound when she gets to her feet and shakes her head. "Funny."

I raise my brows, but before I can say anything else, her hands reach for the hem of her shirt, arms crossed as she pulls it up and over her head.

My hands immediately curl into fists inside my pockets when her eyes meet mine, but she doesn't attempt to cover herself, doesn't say anything.

And neither do I. I_ can't_.

That silence from earlier is back and my lips feel dry, my heart rate increasing as my eyes flick down to her chest before rising back to her face. I want to pull the lace from her skin and put my mouth on her, feel the weight of her tit in my palm.

I suck in a deep breath through my nose; she doesn't seem shy or embarrassed: her cheeks don't heat and she doesn't fidget. She simply adjusts her bra strap before reaching for one of the shirts from the back of my chair, her hair falling over one shoulder as she leans forward.

I study the flatness of her stomach and the undersides of her boobs; I wonder if her body feels as warm as mine does right now.

My throat feels tight, my hands are needy; I want to touch all of that skin.

Her fingers grasp a gray t-shirt from the pile, spine curving and tits sticking out as she slips the cotton over her head, palms pushing the material down her chest and stomach when the sides roll up and get twisted.

My chest feels too crowded and my neck feels hot when I look at her. She's a lot of things I'm not and I'm sometimes unsure how to act around her; unsure what it is she wants from me.

I'm still watching her when she lifts her eyes back to mine, holding my gaze for just a moment before looking away again. Her fingers go to the button on her shorts and this time I pull away, feeling so fucking awkward just standing here while she gets undressed in front of me.

I almost start laughing at this whole situation, frustration causing my mouth to tug up at the corners as my hands leave my pockets to run through my hair.

My eyes find the ceiling again and I blink slowly, avoiding the glow of the bulb before closing them completely. I squeeze my lids shut and try to think about anything other than the fact she's half naked right now. But even behind my eyelids I can see the pink of her cheeks and the swell of her chest and I'm so fucking screwed.

"What movie are we watching?"

Her voice pushes its way into my head; when I hesitantly turn back towards her, she cocks an eyebrow expectantly.

I expel a sharp breath, her face relaxing as she runs her fingers through her hair.

"What?" she questions when I say nothing.

Her legs are bare but her top half is covered. She's wearing my black hoodie over the t-shirt, fingers playing with the zipper, tugging one second and twisting the next.

Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and tell her, "Nothing."

I push myself from the wall and grab a dry shirt. There's a weight in my chest that's made of bricks. I want a cigarette; I want to breathe out my frustrations along with the smoke and let the night air take them from me.

She moves toward me, her hands shoved into the pockets of my sweater, eyes flitting back and forth between mine.

For a few seconds we just stand here, watching one another, the knot in my stomach tightening as I think about all the things I want to do to her.

There's something so devastatingly appealing about what she's just done, and yet, part of me thinks I want to tell her to leave. But then I focus on the shape of her lips and that look in her eyes and... no, that's a lie; I know I want her to stay.

She tries to suppress a grin and a slow smile spreads across my face, unbidden in its appearance but true nonetheless.

_What the fuck is it about this girl?_

"Hurry up and change," she says, nodding to the shirt in my hands, her hair tangled around her cheeks again.

She regards me carefully for a few more seconds, another smile pulling at her lips before she shakes her head and starts for the door, leaving me alone in a room that feels a lot more empty than before.

I watch her go, exhaling heavily, the tension in my body unwinding. I hear her feet pad down the hallway; listen as another door opens before there's nothing but silence.

The way she acts around me... I wonder if this is a common occurrence with the guys she meets. It's almost intimidating, the way she knows how to move and stir a reaction without much provocation. She's a born tease, but there's also an element of disinterest in her actions, as if she's done this sort of thing countless times and no longer cares or thinks it's strange.

My brows knit together as I look back to the door, torn over the girl who is somewhere in this house and no doubt further immersing herself into my life, intentionally or otherwise.

Pulling in a deep breath, I reach behind me and drag my shirt over my head, pausing to scratch the top of my chest before sliding on the dry one in my hand. I tug down my zipper and replace my jeans with a clean pair of sweats, my fingers in my hair before I've even left the room.

Bella is curled up on the sofa when I enter the living room, everything switched off with the exception of the television. She looks up as I hesitate in the doorway, her eyes wide and dark in the minimal light as she stares back at me before looking down and away, patting the space beside her.

Her legs are crossed, her hands knotted inside her lap as she sucks her top lip into her mouth. "I put in Fight Club, was that okay?" she asks as I sit down next to her.

I clear my throat and nod. "Yeah, that's fine."

My eyes look from the screen to her face and back to the screen again. I notice the way she tips her head to the side from time to time during the movie, watching carefully before glancing away or at me.

It's not really awkward, but—with the exception of the sounds coming from the TV—it is quiet; at least until she speaks.

"Do you own a brush?" she asks me, the look behind her eyes serious.

I laugh. "What?"

"Your hair," she says with a sudden smile. "It's always a mess."

My hands unconsciously go to my head, trying to tame the wayward strands. "I don't really notice," I tell her honestly.

Her palms flatten against the sofa cushions as she raises to her knees, shuffling forward until her hands rest on my shoulders, then my neck, before reaching up to smooth over my hair. It feels nice, the way her fingers go from pulling a little one minute to not moving the next.

My hands find her thighs, sliding a short way up from her knees, curling but not attempting to move any higher. She feels warm, and soft, and looks like mine, dressed in my clothes, even though she isn't.

She peers down at me, her expression hard to read. "It suits you," she starts. "It's almost as if your chaos lives here instead of anywhere else." She smiles again and says, "I like it."

_I like you_, I want to say, but the thought catches me off guard and I swallow it down with a mixture of determination and confusion.

Her hands start moving again and I close my eyes, breath high in my chest as she pushes herself a little closer. I want to pull her down against me and make her feel good. I want to tempt away her touch and angle her head so my mouth fits hers from underneath. I want a lot of things but do nothing about any of them.

The movie drones on in the background, flashing blues and reds and darks as Bella drops her arms and sits back against her calves, reclining until she's back on her side of the sofa, focus once again on the TV.

We lapse into another stint of silence, minutes passing with no words born from random statements.

This is new for us, sitting around together this late, in the house. We're usually out in the yard smoking or drinking, and generally not this close or comfortable. I've been getting more of her days than her evenings, her truck missing from the driveway most nights this week.

I try to concentrate, and manage to lose myself in the scenes and dialogue for a little while. I can still sense her next to me though, and occasionally hear her shift against the cushions or cough lightly.

I scratch my head and stretch my legs when the credits start rolling, glancing over to see Bella has fallen asleep. Her head rests on the arm of the sofa, hands up by her chest, her breathing soft and even.

My eyes find the clock as I shift to the edge of the couch, rubbing the back of my neck as I yawn. I debate with myself whether to wake her or not; she's never stayed over here before and I'm not sure if it's something she'd want to do.

I get to my feet and head for the kitchen to check the back door, not being overly loud or particularly quiet, hoping to give her the choice if she hears me moving around while I begin to lock up.

I grab a glass of water while in there and drink half the contents before tipping the remainder down the sink. My mouth feels less dry as I clear my throat, my limbs heavy when I flip off lights as I go.

Bella is still sleeping when I get back to the living room, her position unchanged apart from her lips, which are now slightly parted whereas her mouth was fully closed before.

Crouching down, I touch her arm lightly, my voice low as I try not to startle her. "Bella?"

She makes a sort of humming noise but doesn't stir, and trying again, I shake her shoulder gently, my words a little louder this time. "B, I need to lock up. Are you staying?"

Her eyes blink open this time, lips pouty and expression confused, her eyes sleepy as she kind of frowns back at me. I smirk softly and resist the urge to tuck her hair behind her ear, moving my hand to her elbow to avoid temptation.

"What time is it?" she says, still half asleep, her lids threatening to close again.

Peering back over my shoulder at the clock, I tell her, "Almost one."

"Okay," she mumbles, lips parting with a yawn.

"Do you need to go?" I ask, hoping she'll say no as I reach behind me for the remote to turn off the television.

She makes another one of those humming noises as she gets to her knees, and then her feet, balance wavering as she steps past me without another word. I hold out my hand to steady her, but she's already too far out of my reach, all long legs and tired movements as she rounds the side of the sofa.

Pushing myself out of my crouch, I presume she's heading for the front door, and am about to tell her to wait while I give her a pair of sweats or something to wear, when she surprises me by bypassing the right side of the hall where the door is located, in favor of the left and the bedrooms.

It takes me at least thirty seconds to process that she hasn't gone to get her things, and that she is in fact staying, my hands unthinkingly finding my hair as I force myself to move.

I lock up quickly, and then I'm walking the short distance to the adjoining hallway, checking the open doorways as I pass, more for something to do than actually thinking she's in any of them.

My hoodie is now on the floor of my room instead of her body when I step inside. I immediately look over to the opposite side of the room where Bella is attempting to sleep. She's tucked under the covers on the left side of the bed, the side against the wall, her hair sprawled out over my pillow.

She looks good there, like she belongs, but also like maybe she doesn't. I don't know what to do with the thought, so I leave it alone, choosing not to dwell on it right now.

The air in here is warm, and I think about opening a window, but then I worry she might get cold. I'm being stupid; I can't help it. I think I'm nervous, or tired, and I want to crawl in beside her, but still I hesitate. I'm not sure if it's going to be weird, despite it being my bed—I rub my hands over my face and press my lids together, telling myself to just fucking _stop_.

I hear her move against the sheets, and when I open my eyes, I see that she's turned over, her back now facing me. The duvet has been thrown back though, exposing the side meant for me, a silent invitation without the awkwardness of words.

There's a new sort of weight inside my chest as I push the door closed, not quite letting it catch into place. I make my way over to the bed, shifting onto the mattress behind her, careful not to disturb her as I attempt to get comfortable. I can feel her warmth though, radiating from her body, heating my urges and igniting my trepidation. I want to wrap my arm around her stomach and pull her back to me, hold her and maybe press my face into her hair.

I stare up at the ceiling, my mind alert despite the tiredness I feel creep over me. I wasn't expecting this, and wonder if she'll do it again tomorrow night, or the night after.

I like her here, even if she is distant, no part of her touching me. I can't explain it, so I try not to think about it, but that's easier said than done, my heart realizing her nearness with every thundering beat.

Her breathing is soothing, making me feel sleepier, my blinks rapid as I fight off the water in my eyes as a yawn escapes my mouth.

I lift my head a little higher on the pillow, and think I may be able to finally drift off, when Bella shifts to her back, and then her side, her eyes shut and body suddenly flush against mine.

Her warmth, the feel of her, it all makes me freeze. I tilt my head and stare down at her face, at her soft looking mouth and relaxed brows and closed lids. She's sleeping; there's no way she would cuddle up to me like this if she were awake. She tries to get closer still, an unconscious shift in her sleep, and I lift my arm, welcoming her head on my chest and her hand on my stomach.

My throat feels thick, but it doesn't feel bad. I go to brush her hair from her forehead, but pause, settling my hand back down at my side. She makes me second guess myself and I want to be angry with her for it, but then her cheek momentarily presses harder against my chest, making me forget, or ignore, and I focus on something else instead.

I turn my face into her hair and sigh, wondering if she'll still be here when I wake up. I hope she is, but doubt she will be. She smells nice, like summer and shampoo. She feels nice, too, her hand curled over my chest, t-shirt caught lightly under her fingers.

I'm still awake a little while later, watching the ceiling fan circle and circle. A cough builds in my chest, but I hold it in, not wanting to wake the girl next to me. I eventually close my eyes and listen to the sound of her breathing.

Everything is quiet: the house, this room, my thoughts dulled to a diminishing light.

I let her rise and fall lull me to sleep, unsure of what else to do.

* * *

**Meg: What's y'alls favorite cereal? Does anyone remember Waffle Crisp? ****That cereal was the bomb.**

** Kim: I've never heard of Waffle Crisp, but now I want it. And orange juice. But that doesn't have anything to do with this, so...**

**Thanks for reading!**

**We like Susan because she's got awesome beta skills and she's pretty.**

**Reviews will get a teaser for the next chapter.**

**Until next time. xx**


	4. The Lake

**Disclaimer: No beagles will be harmed during the process of writing this story.**

* * *

June 2008

* * *

Edward

I can't remember the last time I allowed a girl to stay in my bed where all we did was sleep.

I don't think there's ever been a time.

I'm already changing the rules for this girl, and I think that makes me stupid... maybe. Yet here I am, and here she is: my arm around her shoulders, her body still pressed up against me.

Bella's right leg is thrown over mine and her hair is a tangled mess, spilling all over my chest and below my chin in this crazy mass of... _dark_. It's fucking everywhere, sticking to the light layer of scruff that covers my neck; irritating my skin every time she stirs in her sleep. It feels both nice and... weird, and I'm torn between gathering up all those strands to push them away, and pressing my face a little closer, because she's all-natural-girl like this and her hair smells good.

Early morning light streams through the half-open blinds, blocking the room in yellow and gray, making everything look kind of sallow. The covers are halfway down the bed, kicked away during the night. Bella's arms and legs appear paler against my dark blue sheets, and I think that's my favorite thing about her—her skin. It's soft and I wonder what it would feel like pressed against all of mine; I wonder if she'll ever want that. She's quick enough to flirt, and tease, and spend time with me, but that could be for any number of reasons. Maybe this is all I get: an unconscious hug in sleep; taunting smiles when she's bored.

My left shoulder blade itches and everything feels too hot; sweat sticks to the back of my neck and my muscles ache from sleeping in the same position all night. I don't usually wear sweats or a t-shirt to bed, so the urge to roll over and detach myself from Bella's hold to open a window or something, is all I can think about for what feels like forever; the other impulse that rises causes me to grit my teeth and bite back a groan.

I'm not sure what I'm doing, spending all my time with her, getting invested like this. I've had the same close friends since childhood. I should just get out of bed and open that window and go take a piss and forget all about this girl. I don't care about meeting new people and I've never been that much of a social person.

She's become the exception, the one we all have—the one that rolls in on a cloud of dust and argues that the sky is nothing but mirrors, and not blue, before setting it aflame with their careless way of living while we stand beside them and watch those reflections burn.

The room gains a little more brightness, highlighting the specs of dust that float back and forth between the stripes of citrine and gray as I lie awake and listen to the low rumble of an engine come to life outside.

Bella's breath is warm against my chest, and that need to find a cool spot on the mattress resurfaces as I take inventory, because _fuck_, it's so humid in here, and I really want to move, but that would mean waking her, and outside of the added heat her body is giving me, I more than like her being here.

Holding back a sigh, I run my tongue over my lips and give a quick glance to the girl nestled at my side; her mouth is kind of pouty in sleep while I lift my arm from around her shoulders to throw over my eyes.

She stirs with my movement, the hand on my torso scrunching my t-shirt somewhat before relaxing again. It feels good and part of me wants to lift my other arm to see if she'll do it again. But then her cheek rubs against me and I tense, wondering if she's waking.

Her breaths, however, remain even, her small curves and soft skin not unnoticed in my morning state; her hips are kind of bony but not uncomfortable.

I want to stop thinking and go back to sleep... stop noticing all these little things about her... like the fact she's still here.

I was positive I'd find the spot beside me empty this morning, so to discover her curled against me has left me feeling kind of awkward—mostly because I have no idea how she's going to react.

This isn't what we do..._ cuddle_. Bella likes to keep herself guarded; is careful enough to keep the emotional and physical aspects of... whatever _this is _between us, completely separate. So to have the two fuse together... it's like balancing on a knife's edge, the blade sharp at either end.

Sometimes it feels like there's this gravitational pull that leaves no room for anything else: I want to fight against it, she _does _fight against it, or maybe it's purely one-sided. Maybe I want something she's never going to give me.

Either way, I don't want this—her huddled against me—to freak her out. But if previous experience is anything to go by, I can't see that _not _happening.

Then again, I don't know if her acting _normal _would be a better alternative. It would mean she felt nothing at all.

Bella isn't in control like this. Her decisions aren't thought out and her actions are impulsive—they probably mean nothing. I think she likes to come across as unpredictable, and in a lot of ways, she is, but the more time I spend around her, the more I see how stuck in her head she is.

I guess we're alike in that way.

Uncovering my eyes, I hazard another look at the girl tangled around me. I can't see much of her face from this angle, hidden beneath all that hair; I do, however, hear the noise that leaves her mouth, somewhere between a whine and groan as she finally begins to wake.

My arm stays where it is instead of lowering back down to her shoulders, the sound she's making causing my lips to twitch; it's low and instinctive and makes me want to smile. I realize I like seeing her like this: natural... unguarded. It's_ nice_. But it also makes me feel guilty.

Bella's head lolls back as she turns further onto her side, her sigh audible once she's settled, her palm dragging closer to her cheek, taking my shirt with her.

It's then that she seems to pause; it's then that she maybe feels the steady beat of my heart beneath her touch.

I have a clearer view of her features now that she's moved, and I watch as her brows furrow and her eyes open; as she maybe tries to remember where she is.

She squints against the light and I fight the urge to push the strands of hair from her forehead, feeling my own frown form as I wonder just how often she goes through this... wakes up in a bed that's not hers, questioning where she slept the night before.

Her lashes half-flutter with the movement of her gaze—lifting from my gray t-shirt to somewhere below my chin—before finally flicking up to meet my cautious stare; her eyes are soft and brown and I swear I feel them all the way inside my chest.

She looks younger like this, but also older, her hair messy and legs bare; her lips swollen with sleep and eyes dark. I almost can't stand looking at her, wanting to distance myself, wanting too many things.

There's a loaded moment when neither of us says anything, her features controlled, this awareness thick, and then she's rolling away, her blinks slow as she lies on her back and stares up at the ceiling.

She says nothing, and even though my tongue feels heavy with words, I don't either. I'm not surprised—I was expecting this: the silence, the tension. I feel her loss immediately though, the right side of my body cooling, the heat under my skin still there, charging through my blood.

_I want to pull her back_.

I settle my right arm under my head and rest my left along my stomach, barring temptation. Minutes pass where I swear I feel every second, every tick—mini vibrations that twitch beneath my bones and strum over my skin. She's close, but distant, and I don't know what to do about it. I could reach between us and take her hand; trace the sliver of skin above the line of her underwear. But if that was something she wanted, she wouldn't have moved away—we wouldn't have simply slept last night.

The bed dips as Bella draws up her legs, pale limbs bending at the knees, her feet flat to the mattress as she carries on pretending this is normal for us; as I carry on letting her. But maybe I'm the one pretending... the one that has it all wrong. This scene right here may be something she's practiced more times than I want to think about.

I turn my head to face her, watching how the tips of her fingers trace blind patterns on the sheets; I wonder what she's sketching, what she sees. My shirt feels too tight across my chest, but she doesn't look to be uncomfortable, content to simply lie here beside me.

Everything is easy, but difficult: a collection of muted tiger stripes and averted gazes. I watch as Bella's tongue swipes across her bottom lip, and her legs straighten back out.

I want her to talk. I want to hear if her voice sounds the same this early in the morning. I want her to look at me.

Releasing my breath through my nose, I lower my arm back down to my side, her eyes flicking to mine for only a second, but it's enough to get her to move.

She twists onto her knees, her spine straightening as she pushes the right side of her hair over to her left, using her hand from her fingers to wrist. I follow the movement, wanting to help her; wanting to grab her hips and roll her under me; sink into these dark blue sheets while drowning in nothing but her.

A sort of sigh leaves her mouth, and she shakes her head, eyes down while she puts her weight to her palms, and her knee between my thighs, my elbows digging into the mattress as I push myself up a little, wanting to get closer.

She's trying to leave, and is hardly touching me, but she feels warm and good and I don't want her to go. "You could stay," I offer quietly, hating how obvious I'm being, my words resulting in her pause.

Her lips flex into an almost smile, and I bite the inside of my cheek as her weight settles against the lower part of my stomach; as she finally looks and holds and pushes her hips back against me.

Bella slides into my lap, and my palms curl into fists; she stills, and I watch her bottom lip become caught between her teeth as she continues to stare down at me. I know she can feel how hard I am beneath her, but it's morning and she's half-dressed and teasing me and I want to lift my shirt from her skin and pull the lace from her tits and put my mouth over every part of her I can reach.

I exhale slowly, feeling my pulse race and my cheeks heat as she moves her hands to my stomach, her palms resting flat while I fight the urge to push up against her. Her mouth is tight at the corners, and her lips are kind of pursed and keep twitching; she's trying not to laugh.

I'm torn between wanting her to move and hating her for it. Bella likes to play these games, and I think some part of me must like them, too, because I keep finding myself in this same situation where she teases me with the feel of how good things could be if I'd just slide her underwear to the side and free myself from my sweats to where she's wet and warm.

I brush my pointer finger over her right knee, and her amusement wanes, but she doesn't leave. "Do you know how fucking pretty you are?" I ask her, the words spilling out of my mouth in a low rush before I have chance to pull them back.

She's suddenly not so confident, her gaze dropping, refusing to hold my stare, the grip on this moment loosening. I'm frustrated and confused; this isn't the kind of reaction you expect from a girl after telling her she's pretty. She's closing down, and my brows furrow, but I don't regret it. She's all I can think about right now—she's pretty and different and I _like _her. I want to be able to tell her these things. But I also don't want her to leave, so I curl my hand around her thigh until she squirms, pressing down on me as my teeth clench; as I become obsessed with the little puff of breath that leaves her mouth.

Her lips stay parted, and my hand strays a little higher, and I think she's going to let me touch her, lashes fluttering as her eyes flick up, holding us both in place.

Warmth fills my chest and my dick hardens further as she straightens her back and uses her palms to push, but a noise from outside breaks her concentration, causing her focus to falter, her gaze now directed toward the window.

And then I'm forgotten: this bed, this moment, my need. She wastes no time in pulling away, her weight gone, my frustration left to punish.

I run my hands over my face roughly, holding back a groan, the light catching Bella's hair as she searches for something to wear. She doesn't change out of my shirt, and doesn't ask if it's okay to borrow my sweats as I watch her pull them up her legs.

I could ask her to stay again, but if I did that, it'd show I care more than I probably should: it meant she'd gain a little more power, and she already holds too much.

Feeling my teeth clench in defeat, I drop my arms back to the bed, focusing on the way she rolls the waistband of my sweats over a few times. I like seeing her in my clothes; I hate that I do. Some part of me wants to point out that her shorts are on the floor, exactly where she left them last night, but I don't want to be _that _guy, so I choose to do nothing and keep my mouth shut.

Her eyes dart to my face once she's fully dressed, her words not the ones I want to hear—the ones I know are coming. "I gotta go," she says.

I pull myself up into a sitting position, my forearms resting over my knees as I tell myself not to question it. "I'll see you later?" I wonder.

She nods, but her answer is noncommittal. "Yeah, maybe," she agrees, pushing her fingers through her hair before turning to leave the room without another word.

I listen to her make her way through the house, the muscles in my jaw ticking as car engines rumble outside and voices echo and press to glass.

I knock my knuckles against my legs, and start to shake my head, but pause. I want to get up and look; I shouldn't get up and look, I know I shouldn't—I'm not sure I really want to know who's out there—but I can't stop myself.

My feet hit the floor, and my hand runs over my mouth while I glance toward the window, intent on finding out what made her leave so suddenly.

I spot him immediately, the guy Bella has no trouble hugging, the guy she used to fuck—the one she still might.

The instant surge of jealousy I feel toward him is irrational. Bella isn't my girlfriend... I'm not sure if she's even really a friend: she owes me nothing.

The sound of the front door catching into place reverberates down the hallway, and I tell myself to look away, and not dwell on things I can't change, but this need to find out who this guy is to her, is stubborn and refuses to leave.

Silence crashes around me, but smiles are louder, and I can do nothing but stare as Bella walks over and wraps her arms around him from behind. She's so easy with him, Jasper's grin matching hers as he turns and places an arm around her shoulders; as he playfully bites her neck and messes up her hair.

I watch her laugh, and this feeling is still here, the one that eats away at me from the inside—the one I can feel in the back of my throat, tainting my thoughts and constricting rationality.

She's wearing my clothes, but a smile for him. She was just in my bed—she spent the night with _me_—but those things no longer matter, because now she's hugging and laughing with someone else, giving him things without hesitation—things I'm never going to get.

He walks away, and she jumps on his back, and I can't stand looking at her face any longer; I hate the smile she wears, the one I didn't put there.

My chest feels tight and my fists clench as I turn away.

I am a stupid boy who wills this sky to burn.

I am nothing despite wanting to be something.

+.+.+.+.+

It looks like autumn but feels like summer.

The sun is high in the sky, immersing everything in gold.

Grass crunches underfoot as I take a few steps back, the outlook from this vantage point reminding me of stagnant flames.

My tongue feels dry; the cloying heat makes me feel thirsty. The lake to my left taunts me—I know the water is not as clear as it appears to be from this distance.

My lungs feel like they're burning with every inhale. The air is dry and dusty, and I swear it has a sound, like the crackling of old paper inside a clenched fist.

Sweat has gathered inside the creases of my eyelids, and I squint, my hand becoming a shield, armoring my vision from the blur of heat that makes everything look like it's swimming.

I spent almost every summer at this lake growing up. It's where I first met Kate and Garrett. They were fighting over the use of a swing; Kate tomboyish and stubborn, Garrett her obstinate match. I'd pulled a coin from my pocket and told them to flip for it—we've been friends ever since. They still fight with each other over the stupidest shit, and it's obvious they like each other, though neither would ever admit it.

They'll be home from their respective colleges in a matter of weeks, but I haven't yet thought of what they'll make of Bella. I don't even know if she'll still be around.

Kate has a no bullshit policy that made her a target when we were kids: she would talk back to her peers and never failed to speak what was on her mind. Girls at school would get jealous that she was so close to Garrett and me, and while Bella doesn't seem at all typical like that, she also isn't the easiest person to connect with. They'll either clash, or get on like a house on fire, and if their sometimes silent but fiery tempers are anything to go by, I'm betting on the former of the two.

Tree bark digs into my back, and my blood feels bright, matching the smile on Bella's face as she clings to the single length of rope that hangs from the thickest branch, keeping her suspended mid-air.

She's wearing her usual cut-offs and one of my shirts, and her hair looks different, more wavy or something. She looks good, and I lick my lips and run a palm over the back of my neck, the weather unforgiving where _I _apparently am.

Bella walked through my front door this morning as if she hadn't been gone for three days; as if she hadn't left me to go hang out with another guy. I wanted to be angry with her and tell her to go back to her friends, but her smile had been full and her cheeks had been flushed—she'd crumbled my resolve and rendered me weak in a matter of seconds. She sat beside me on the sofa and laughed at my expression as she stole the TV remote from my hand and settled on some kids' show I hadn't seen in years; her legs rested over my lap and I let them stay there until she said she was bored and asked if we could go somewhere different.

I drove, she rolled down her window as far as it would go, and we both stayed silent the entire ride over here.

The atmosphere in the car was thick, and I felt her staring at me more than once, but I kept my focus on the road, waiting for her to say whatever it was that was on her mind.

I still hadn't said one word to her since she'd walked through my front door this morning, a tension she hadn't anticipated present between us.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, tapping her hands on the dashboard as I cut the engine.

I pressed the back of my head against the seat behind me and looked down my nose toward the lake. "Nothing," I answered, clearing my throat.

Her tapping got quicker before she huffed and maneuvered between me and the wheel, settling onto my lap. "You're lying," she stated, bending her head a little in order to gain my attention.

I swallowed back the bitter smile that wanted to coat my mouth and uttered, "I didn't know you were such an expert on the subject."

Her thighs were warm on the outside of mine, her heat pushing through dark denim. I gripped the steering wheel behind her, catching the bone-white of my knuckles as I avoided looking directly at her face. I was being childish and antagonistic; I was tired. My jaw was taut, and my chest felt crowded with her proximity, but Bella didn't understand the reason for my sour mood.

To a girl like her, disappearing for days with an ex... _whatever _Jasper was, was nothing. It was normal.

I finally turned my focus her way, her eyes clear of their usual weed haze. Her cheeks were red and her lips were pressed together tightly; I held her stare as they parted for her tongue to run between.

"What's with the attitude?" she questioned, a bite to her tone, evidently rattled with my earlier response.

Her face was so close, and my right knee bounced in the confined space, legs spread wide to avoid hitting the wheel. She lifted her brows to urge me on, and my heart sped up with all the questions I wanted to ask her.

I couldn't stop picturing that stupid fucking smile she'd worn all over her face as she'd jumped on Jasper's back; how easily she'd dropped what we were doing—what we were _about _to do—to probably go do it with him instead.

But I shouldn't be mad. She'd warned me, numerous times in fact, how easy it was for her to move from one thing to the next, or in this case,_ person_. How facile it was, as simple as breathing. I knew what we were—what we _weren't_. It shouldn't matter what she did. _It's none of your business_, I reminded myself.

"It's nothing, I'm fine. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, that's all. Sorry." My voice felt rusty and unused—gritty like sand.

Her gaze orbited my face, eyes squinting as if troubled by the sun before asking, "Why? Did you have a hot date or something?"

She was trying to act light, but her words settled heavily into my gut. I steadily ignored the feeling, pushing those rocks aside. "Not unless you count eating overcooked mac and cheese from a box as _hot_."

She cracked a smile and tugged a few times on the front of my shirt, pulling the cotton toward her until she coaxed one out of me, too.

"Come on, Grumpy. I want to go on that swing over there, so you need to come push me."

Her eyes were big and hopeful, but still a little thoughtful, and I shook my head and breathed out a hesitant laugh, releasing my grip on the wheel. "You're a brat," I told her.

She unbuckled my seatbelt for me and nudged open the car door with her elbow after prying the lock loose with a pull of her fingers. "Don't pretend you don't like it," she shot back.

But that was the problem; _I _wasn't the one pretending.

A too-quick surge of breeze shifts across the planes, waking the leaves overhead, Bella's voice floating over with the brief reprieve. "Can't you push me any faster, old man?" she teases.

Her hair is tangled around her face as she looks down at me from where she's standing on the wooden seat of the swing.

I stretch my arms out and roll my neck. "I'm, what, three years older than you?" I say. "How does that make me old?"

She pauses as if to drive her point home, swaying slightly from side-to-side; my shoulder blades press against the trunk of the tree and I use the momentum to push myself from the rough bark.

"You're puffing," she exaggerates, biting her lip as she tries—and fails—to hide her amusement.

I slide my hands into my pockets and nudge the wooden seat with my foot. "This thing isn't even a proper swing. There's only one rope. It's hard to push you on it without you falling off."

Her response is immediate—the look in her eyes is something I'll never not want. It's light and easy and makes me feel good.

"Or maybe you're just old," she says again, the rope twisting beneath her palms as she redirects her attention and stares up at the sky.

I look away, too, focusing on my shoes, and bite back my smirk. "Shut up."

She laughs and my smile can't be contained any longer.

I like her like this, when she's not putting on a show or out to prove a point. It feels natural, smiling and joking with her... but then so does the _not knowing _and the _frustration_ and the _disappointment_.

And that's an issue.

Bella communicates she wants me closer with a brief glimpse over her shoulder, and because I like her, because I want to be nearer, I jump onto the swing behind her, my weight tilting us backward as she screams and laughs and holds on tight.

"If I fall, I swear to God..." she warns loudly, her threat cutting off as I tug on the rope and cause us to dip once more.

She squeals, and I huff out a laugh before spreading my feet a little farther apart and leaning forward, balancing us out.

We rock lightly, the motion helped along with Bella's movement as she twists around slowly so she's facing me. She almost slips in the process, her eyes cutting to mine as I instinctively wrap my arm around her waist, holding her steady.

The top of her head comes to my chin, causing her to angle herself backward somewhat in order to see me clearly; she licks her lips and drops her eyes to somewhere on my face before looking away completely.

"I'm good," she says after a few seconds, an obvious dismissal to let her go.

I squint into the distance and pull my arm from her body, trying not to let her refusal sting. "Okay."

The sun beats down on the back of my neck and the top of my head, burning my skin. I remain quiet as Bella grips the rope tightly inside her palms, her arms straightening out as she leans back and stares my way.

Her cheeks hollow out as she sucks them in. "What did you want to be when you were little, Edward?" she asks, her question catching me off guard. She doesn't usually touch personal stuff like this, her brows furrowing, almost as if she didn't actually mean to speak those words out loud.

I run my tongue over my lips and think back. "A doctor, like my dad," I tell her. "I'd steal his stethoscope and diagnose my toys. This stuffed bear with only one remaining eye always had some incurable disease. Pretty sure one time it was cooties," I joke, watching her lips purse in amusement.

"How old were you?"

I scratch the side of my jaw, my balance momentarily wavering. "Uh... around six, I think."

"I bet you were cute," she muses with a twinkle in her eye. "I'm sure all the little girls had crushes on you."

Her grin is full and I want to kiss it right off her face. "Not really," I answer. "I don't know. I didn't pay attention to things like that..."

"So you never played _doctor _or whatever?" she wonders, her hair swinging back behind her as she rocks us from side-to-side. "Lame, Edward. Lame."

I half smile and shrug as best I can with my arms in this position. "I honestly can't remember."

She smiles to herself before biting her lip. "Do you still have it? The stethoscope, I mean."

I cock a brow. "Why, you thinking of going into the medical field?" I deadpan.

Her smile grows as her gaze drops. "Well, I do already have a nurse outfit... it would be a shame to let it go to waste."

My skin feels alive, electrical currents wired to my pulse. "You do not."

She laughs, her cheeks pink and eyes bright. "No, I don't," she acquiesces.

Warmth billows in my chest, like the kind of balloon that exhales fire. "That's probably for the best. Pretty sure the kind of outfit you were thinking of would have had you fired anyway."

She makes an incredulous noise in the back of her throat. "That_ I _was thinking of? Please. Don't act like you weren't either."

Her eyes drop to my mouth and I smirk, not disagreeing. She shakes her head and does that lip purse thing again, her gaze flicking back to mine for a second before a light laugh escapes her mouth.

I like that I'm the one making her feel this way; like that she's dropped her guard somewhat.

A slight breeze picks up, and Bella's attention is suddenly on something past my head. She keeps one hand tight around the rope, but her other hand moves to my shoulder, an attempt to keep her balance as the wind swings us in tiny circles.

She's so close and right _there_, this feeling of lightness and ease floating around us abruptly giving me courage. Before I can really think about what I'm doing, I dip my head and lean closer, this need to kiss her suddenly overwhelming.

She pulls back almost immediately, just before my lips can touch hers. My eyes never closed, and now I almost wish they'd had, because the look on her face is not only one of confusion, but also anger.

"That's a bad idea," she mumbles.

My stomach drops with the instant rejection that lingers between us, tainting this moment and destroying the easy vibe that was here moments before.

I straighten my back and release a breath, keeping my eyes away from her face. I'm not even sure what I can say at this point, my embarrassment obvious.

"Yeah," I say in agreement.

Bella offers a small nod, then grabs the rope with both hands, staring at the ground as she carefully hops off the swing. I watch her walk toward the car, and I hold back from calling out her name. Instead, I stay in place until the swing eventually comes to a stop; until Bella is closer to the lake, digging through her bag while sitting.

I jump off the swing and wipe my hands on the front of my jeans, squinting as I make my way toward her. She doesn't bother looking up when I reach her side, doesn't say a word as I sit down next to her—she simply places a joint between her lips and graces the end with a flame.

I focus on the lake, half listening to her inhale, wondering if I should have even bothered coming over. But then she nudges my arm, offering me the joint from between her fingers. It's a burning white flag, a peace offering, her attention directed to the hair-tie around her wrist that she flicks against the delicate skin there.

I take a few pulls before holding it back out to her, the tension between us as thick as the intermittent clouds overhead; wanting to erase even a bit of the charged atmosphere, I decide to break the silence.

"What'd you do yesterday?" I ask, inconsequential enough in an attempt to keep things light.

The side of her hand brushes mine as she plucks the joint from my hold, but she still refuses to meet my gaze.

"Not much," she says evasively, her lips parting as she exhales her smoke sharply. "Just hung out. You know."

She follows her words with a shrug, and _No_, I want to say._ I don't know_.

But I think I do.

I bend my knees, bringing my legs closer to my chest, and rest my forearms over them. I know what fucking expression I'm wearing right now, my mind supplying me with scenarios I'd rather not think about. It spurns my ire and frustration, weaving its poisoned web, trapping me in its adhesive middle. Jealousy pulls at my features and tugs at the strings inside my chest. It's not a good look for me,_ bitterness, envy_, and I hate that I let her affect me. But I don't know how to make it stop.

"With who?" I question, unable to leave it alone.

She finally looks my way, her gaze assessing while I stare right back, wondering if she's going to be honest and say _his _name.

"Lee," she answers after a beat, even going as far as to offer me a small smile that does nothing to placate me.

She shields her eyes before dropping her gaze to her shoes; she twists one of the laces around her finger and clouds the air white.

"Right."

I watch her closely, trying to decipher her expression. She's just openly lied to me, and the worst part is that she doesn't outwardly appear any different. Her features don't hint to her deceit and her voice didn't shake. It all came so easy.

Digging the heels of my boots into the dirt, I continue to run my mouth like a fool. "What did you guys do?"

Bella mimics my position and rests her chin on her knees. Her eye contact unsettles me, and I swallow hard.

"We went to a party," she tells me.

I nod, but I don't stop there. "Whose party?"

She stubs out the rest of the joint in the dirt roughly before throwing it aside. "You wouldn't know him," she says dismissively.

This conversation takes a sudden turn; or maybe it was headed in this direction all along.

"I'm from _here_," I point out, an edge to my voice, this tension unwavering. It's been here since this morning and shows no signs of lessening.

She stretches her legs out in front of her and leans back on her palms, staring out toward the lake. "Well, _he's _not," she retorts.

"Then how do you know him?" I question, this back and forth game still in play.

She taps the side of her left boot against the dry earth, her eyes narrowing with her reply. "Through a friend."

A humorless smile tugs at my mouth. "Which friend?" I counter.

Her discipline wavers, her control snapping once more as she sits up and crosses her legs. "Why does it matter?" she asks loudly, her hands animated, her cheeks flushed.

Even the presence of the sun hasn't been able to stop this day from turning ugly. We're both liars: she lies to me, I lie to myself.

Her look borders on hate, and unclenching my jaw, I give her a pointed look and say, "_You_ tell _me_."

She lets out a disgusted breath and shakes her head. "What, I sleep in your bed a few nights and suddenly you think you're entitled to ask me this shit?" Her expression changes, features twisting with distaste. "You're acting like a jealous boyfriend."

My muscles tense and my throat becomes tight under her calculating stare. She's unforgiving, and so is this feeling, because she's right—I'm acting exactly as she says I am.

I cover my reply with determination and bury it from sight; there's nothing I can say that won't further prove her point.

But where I've stopped, she's only just started. "If you really want to know, I was with Jasper," she divulges.

Her words are too casual, tone flipped to this transparent opposition. I know what she's about to do, and I fucking hate her for it. But more accurately, I hate myself for instigating this in the first place. I wouldn't shut up, and kept pushing and pushing to quell the jealousy that pierced sensibility.

My mouth sours along with the words that are to come, but blame is a reflection, and it's my face in the mirror.

"I know," I admit.

She shows no signs of surprise or emotion. Her hands remain in her lap and her right knee bounces, her eyes all for me now that this fire has been ignited.

"I fucked him. Did you know that too?" she asks spitefully.

Her mouth snaps shut and her fingers clench, her swallow heavy. I feel sick and my teeth grind against the sensation, our simultaneous anger nothing compared to this feeling that punishes between us now.

"Why the fuck are you telling me this?"

She takes a moment to answer, her voice barely masking the control she's attempting to keep. "Isn't this what friends do? Be honest with each other?"

Her smile is forced and sweet, its appearance born from negative emotion. Her gaze is as punishing as mine, the sounds of her breaths hard, my pulse roaring in my ears.

The look in her eyes is impossible to read; she shows me nothing, and I've had enough.

"Fuck this," I whisper harshly, getting to my feet.

She looks away, and I leave her sitting among the dry grass and walk back to the car, my hands moving from my face to my hair, alternating between careening over my stubble and tugging aggressively at my roots.

Bella makes me feel half-mad. She's destructive and compelling and even now, with my hand on the car door, I can't just leave her here like I should.

I bow my head and smack my palm against the window, sensing my Adam's apple bob in my throat when I catch her reflection in the glass as she walks over.

The muscles in my jaw tick as she pauses beside me, her back to the body of the car, her gaze burning a hole in the side of my face.

I hold my palms flat against the window and extend my arms, keeping my head bent as I flick my eyes in her direction.

She doesn't fidget or look uncomfortable; she simply looks, taking stock, her pupils wide even in the light.

"I thought we were cool," she says slowly, squinting against the sun as she crosses her arms over her chest.

It's not an apology, not that I expected one. I'm not sure if she even owes me _anything_. Regardless of her delivery, she only gave me what I'd asked for.

I fill my head with excuses and tell myself I can handle this. That I can get over it. Remind myself that I am not her boyfriend and that who she fucks is not my concern.

I lie.

Bella looks at me expectantly, my mouth forming words I'm not entirely sure I mean. "We are," I tell her.

We stare back at one another for a beat longer, hesitant in both movement and response, before, finally, our connection breaks.

I open my door, Bella walks around to the other side of the car, and I put this moment on hold.

But I don't completely forget.

And however hard she may try to act otherwise, I don't think she does either.

+.+.+.+.+

The first ten minutes of the drive home is spent in silence. I try to act indifferent, just as Bella is, but I can't help but just feel... _off_.

She stares straight ahead, nodding her head along to the music every now and then, as though everything is okay.

And maybe it _is _okay. Maybe I'm just being a pussy.

"Pull over," she instructs out of nowhere, her voice kind of breathy as she practically leans over me to stare out my window.

I hold back a curse and quickly adjust my hands on the wheel, flicking my eyes from the road to her face as I ask, "Are you okay?

She doesn't turn to look; doesn't seem concerned. "Yeah, I'm fine," she insists with a nod. "Just pull over."

It's awkward trying to maneuver the wheel with her leaning over me like this, and I'm on the verge of questioning her some more, because her brows are now furrowed, and her lip has become caught between her teeth, when, out of my peripheral, I catch sight of something in the rear view mirror.

I hold back a groan when I realize what it is, but I do as Bella wants, and pull over, my gaze stuck on the furry mound the whole time.

The car isn't even in park before Bella reaches for the door handle and jumps out. And for a second, I'm hopeful the noise of the door slamming behind her has scared the thing away. But then I exit, the keys still in the ignition, and there the dog is, staying in place instead of running.

"What's it doing out here?" Bella wonders aloud, her hair whipping around her face as she glances back at me, waiting for an explanation.

Her eyes are expectant, her youth obvious in this moment, but I don't have an answer. Instead, I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans, fisting my lighter as I stay near the car, watching cautiously as she slowly makes her way toward the thing.

"Wait," I say, when she's gotten close enough, because even though the dog looks placid, there could be any number of things wrong with it.

But she just keeps walking, her pace steady as she tentatively offers out a hand as if that's somehow going to make her appear more friendly. And maybe it does, because the mutt sort of cocks its head to the side before cautiously meeting her halfway.

"Be careful," I instruct, walking up behind her, my Docs scuffing the dirt and kicking a few rocks in the process.

She ignores my instructions, dropping to her knees in order to pet the dog properly, her voice calm, her touch gentle.

"Hey," she murmurs softly, scratching lightly at the top of its head. "She's sweet," she says decidedly, glancing up at me for a moment, not really looking for approval, just gauging my expression.

"She's a stray," I tell her, running a hand over my unshaven face as I survey the empty fields and dirt roads that surround the area, wondering how the dog made it out here in the first place.

"Just because she's a stray, doesn't mean she's not sweet," she mumbles, now using both hands to scratch behind the dog's ears.

Holding back a sigh, I squat next to Bella, not missing the small smile that plays at her mouth as I follow suit and give the dog a quick scratch on back of its neck. It sits here happily enough, and I guess she's cute in that dirty, mutt sort of way. She needs a bath, and most likely has fleas; she looks hungry, and doesn't have a collar. But none of that deters Bella, because she picks her up and begins walking toward my car without a moment's hesitation.

"What are you doing?" I ask incredulously, using my right hand to keep myself balanced, still squatting.

Squinting against the late afternoon sun, I watch as she turns to look back at me. "I'm taking her—" she begins, stopping short to clear her throat. Her lips instantly press shut, but it's obvious what she intended to say—_home_.

She looks away, the small dog cradled to her chest, and it hits me that maybe Bella doesn't have a home any more than this dog does, a realization that causes my hands to clench to fists and my eyes to lower to the ground.

An awkward sort of silence settles between the two of us, and deciding not to push the _home _thing right now, I straighten up and make my way toward her. "Bella," I stress, shaking my head when I gain her attention. "You can't keep a stray."

She sighs loudly and rolls her eyes. "Why not?" she asks, standing her ground.

Both she and the dog stare back at me, my resolve weakening as I try to think of a reason. "Maybe someone is looking for her," I offer, but we both know that's pretty doubtful.

"No one else wants her," she tells me firmly, like she knows, and something about her tone catches me off guard. There's a slight vulnerability to her right now, and looking at her face, seeing her like this, I can't say no.

Releasing a sigh, I move past her and open the passenger door. "Do you even know how to take care of a dog?"

"Sure," she answers vaguely, and I wonder if she believes it.

She steps past me and slides into the seat, the mutt secured in her arms as I close the door behind them. I stand in place for a moment, allowing the heat from the sun to burn my neck as I stare at the sight in front of me from behind the half-rolled-down window.

The dog sort of wobbles on Bella's thighs while turning to face her—it places its dirty paws on her chest and begins licking her face. Bella shrieks, and laughs, and a small smirk plays with my lips for no reason other than I like seeing this side of her.

It's undeniable that she's easy to look at, but this is the prettiest I've seen her—smiling and laughing unguarded.

As if sensing my thoughts, Bella turns toward the window, smile fading into confusion. "Come on. We need to go to the store."

Biting the inside of my cheek from telling her that she's gorgeous when she lets herself just _be_, I reach into my left pocket, before realizing I've left the keys in the ignition. I pull on the back of my neck and walk around the front of the car, feeling Bella's eyes on me until I'm sitting next to her, starting the engine, shifting into drive.

"We're going to the store?" I sort of ask, casting a glance in her direction while pulling away from the shoulder, getting back on the road.

She nods, placing the dog on the floorboard between her feet. "Yeah. She needs food."

"Right," I say. "Okay. What else?"

"Maybe a bowl for food and water," she rattles off, rolling down her window completely.

"And a collar," I add, absently waving at a passing car before taking a sharp left, heading into town.

"Yeah, she needs a collar. But she also needs a name..." she trails off, biting her thumbnail. "We can worry about that later."

"_We_?" My gaze flicks down to the dog in question, a frown overtaking my features as it cocks its head sideways, then barks at me.

"Maybe not. I don't think she likes you," Bella offers.

"She's not the only one," I mutter under my breath, receiving another bark.

+.+.+.+.+

I wasn't the least bit surprised when Bella headed across the street to Leah's when we arrived back at my house. I was even less surprised when she showed up again a few hours later, dog in tow.

We spent the next few hours messing around with the dog in the backyard, then grabbed some food before spending the remainder of the night on the couch, watching mindless television.

"She needs a name," Bella suddenly mumbles from the end of the sofa, stealing my attention from the TV screen.

Her voice startles me, my heart thundering. "I thought you were asleep," I confess, staring at her in the dim light, the constant movement from the television dancing across her face.

Her eyes open and she holds my gaze, bright and dark while reflecting the occasional flash of color, and I want her to move closer, but she forces herself to be the first to look away. I don't know why she does it; I don't know how she looks away.

She shakes her head, and I take that as the only answer I'm going to get. But then she whispers that she wasn't sleeping... that she was just thinking... and I watch as she sits up and moves to her knees, causing the couch cushion I'm sitting on to dip lower.

"Her coat is a rusty color," she assesses. "Almost like... cinnamon."

"You can't name her Cinnamon," I argue, offering her a small laugh as the dog moves to lie on her back, waiting for me to give in and rub her stomach.

She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Who says?" she questions, her brows rising in challenge.

I run my thumb over my bottom lip, watching her eyes narrow with the movement. "Me. It sounds like a stripper's name."

"And you'd know," she quips, almost as if she's jealous—I can tell from her tone that she's not though.

But maybe I want her to be... and maybe that's weird... but it's almost like I need some sort of assurance that this has the potential to be something; anything.

Before I have chance to say another word, Bella's knees press against the side of my thigh as she leans over me to pet the dog, the ends of her hair brushing against my arm.

"Like Cinnamon Toast Crunch," she explains, her voice low and near; when I turn my head, our faces are so close that I can breathe her in without really trying.

"Like Cinnamon Toast Crunch," I repeat quietly, not because I'm agreeing with her, but because she's right _there _and I'm staring at the corner of her mouth and can't think of anything else to say.

I watch as her lips curl up into a smile; I belatedly realize she thinks I've agreed to the name. But the only thing I've agreed to is that I want to kiss her—I want to kiss her so fucking bad and how can she not tell? She has to know. I'm not being subtle.

_She fucking knows_.

"Why are you wearing my shirt?" I question. I don't know why I ask, or why I even care. Or maybe I do. After the shit that happened earlier at the lake, I should know better than to head down this path.

Her laugh is kind of breathy; kind of nice. "Because I like it," she answers simply, not moving away from me.

"What else do you like?" I ask... maybe even _taunt_. I tell myself there's something in her gaze and it takes everything I have to keep my hands at my side.

Her eyes narrow in the slightest way, and for a moment I think that maybe she's pissed.

Our eyes stay locked and neither of us moves; neither of us is willing to give in.

I just want her to tell me what she likes; what she wants from me. I want to know what she looks like underneath me, losing control, using only breaths and gasps to convey how I'm making her feel.

I want to tell her she's making this difficult. Whatever _this _is. It could be easy... so fucking easy. I don't know why I think I know that; I just do.

If I didn't think she'd freak the fuck out and disappear on me, I'd attempt to tell her all of this.

Her lips look soft and her face is pretty and our eye contact is only broken when the dog jerks up from her spot on the couch and runs over to paw at the back door.

"Shit," I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. It feels like I've been underwater; my pulse races and my inhale is deep.

"Cinnamon wants to go outside," Bella informs me, smiling sweetly as the name rolls off her tongue.

With a quick shake of my head, I leave the couch and cross the tiled floor, flipping on the porch light to let Cinnamon out back.

The distinct drone of insects hums through the open door, the tops of the surrounding trees appearing snow-topped under the influence of the moon.

I keep my spot between the open door and threshold, only turning my attention back to Bella when I hear her stand from the couch and flip off the television. The living room grows dark, most of the light provided by the lone bulb above the stove.

"Are you tired?" I call out, debating whether or not to shut the door and let the dog sleep outside because she's taking too long.

Bella's lips part, but she closes her mouth a second later, choosing not to say anything. It's frustrating, and what I really want to ask is if she's staying again, but I'm not sure if I should. If I ask, then she has the opportunity to say no. And if she says no, then... there's nothing I can do about it.

She shrugs when I ask her again if she's tired, rubbing her eyes with her thumbs before walking wordlessly from the room. I listen for a minute, not sure why I'm so relieved when I don't hear the opening and closing of the front door.

Whistling once, twice, I wait until Cinnamon runs past me and into the house before locking up. I flip off the porch light and turn on the one in the kitchen, unsure if I should designate an area for the dog to sleep—since she didn't get into much trouble when we let her roam around the house earlier, and she didn't piss all over the place, I figure her spot curled up on the couch is good enough for tonight.

As I walk past the front door, eyeing it for a quick second to ensure it's locked, the sound of water splashing against tile begins to echo throughout the house.

I slowly make my way down the hallway; past the open bathroom door and into my room. I'm not sure if she expects me to go in after her, since she opted against closing the door, but I decide I'm not going to assume. She's so fucking hard to read, and I'm too tired; too tired of her little games to keep guessing.

If she wants me in the shower with her, she can open her mouth and tell me.

Keeping the light off in my bedroom, I toss a clean shirt and a pair of boxers on the bed for her to wear after she gets out. I remove my own clothes and leave them discarded on the floor before sliding into bed in only my boxers.

It seems like forever passes before I hear the water finally shut off. I listen to her move about the bathroom, not really trying to sleep.

Not yet.

"Shit," Bella breathes when she notices I'm already in bed, seeming startled as she runs her fingers through her damp hair before shutting the light back off.

"No, it's fine, you can keep it on if you need it," I assure her. "I wasn't sleeping."

She steps farther into the room, and it's then I realize what she's wearing—what she _isn't_—her body wrapped in nothing but a towel; in darkness.

"There's a shirt and boxers on the end of the bed for you if you want them."

She nods, but doesn't thank me, and though my eyes have adjusted to the lack of light, and I can see her clearly thanks to the open blinds, I can't really justify looking away as she drops the towel to the floor.

My pulse quickens at how comfortable she seems to be here, in my room. She stands next to the bed, and I almost want to make her crawl over me like she did the other morning. I like the fact she's staying here again—that she wants to—her fingers brushing the edge of the mattress as I discreetly adjust myself before scooting closer to the wall.

I wait, and her features remain controlled, but she's hesitating, so I make it easy for her and pull back the covers in silent invitation, not that she really needs one—she wouldn't be here if she didn't want to be.

The bed dips and my swallow is rough, her proximity making me restless. "You're in my spot," she says.

Her nearness makes me turn my head; her words make me smile. "What makes it _your _spot?" I question, the look in her eyes forcing me to debate whether or not I should give in and switch places with her.

"Do I really need to give a reason?" she asks, and by then, I've already given in.

_No_, I want to say, _I don't need a reason_. But I bite my tongue; I hold my words hostage, because they won't change anything.

Everything I say and do around Bella seems futile, and I'm not sure why I even try... though maybe this isn't really trying... maybe I'm just_ doing_.

I turn to lie on my side, letting my eyes travel down her face, the subtle hint of the smile on her lips egging me on as my gaze comes to a halt and lingers on her chest. I want to groan out loud, knowing exactly what is being hidden beneath cotton, and I quickly wonder if she'll let me take off her shirt; wonder if she'll let me touch her.

"Well?" she pushes quietly, looking for a response, but I don't have one, because I've already forgotten what we were talking about.

She tries again. "Edward," she sighs, almost as if she's asking for my attention; as if she doesn't already have all of my focus.

A soft and humorless chuckle escapes from my lips, frustration clawing at my throat, because _what does she want_? She doesn't listen; she follows her own rules. My answers never change the outcome.

I'm on the verge of asking her all of this when I stop over-thinking and just _do_. Or maybe I finally _try_.

She's always been the one to initiate contact, but this time I'm the one that shifts from my spot next to her, moving carefully until I'm hovering over her body. I want to lower my weight and feel her beneath me, but I don't know if this is okay, so I keep my eyes trained on her face, looking for any sign that I should stop.

Her mouth opens a little and I can hear her breaths; with my knees pressing firmly into the mattress on either side of her legs, I place my arms beside her shoulders and lean my head down, keeping my lips to myself.

_And it's so fucking hard_.

I want to say something, but I'm having trouble forming words that won't cause her to move from this position. The only thing that seems to be on my mind is: _this girl, this girl_, _this girl_.

Holding her gaze, I slowly drop my head lower and lower, my heart pounding as I attempt to press my lips against hers—if I don't kiss her now, with her under me, so close and staring at me like that, I might go crazy.

Her lids become sort of sleepy, but before our lips have the chance to meet, she turns her head, pressing her cheek against the pillow, denying me yet again. I swallow against the disappointment that rises inside my throat; the hurt that makes my muscles tense. This doesn't stop me though, not like it did this afternoon by the lake. Maybe it should—maybe I should pull away and forget that any of this has happened. But she isn't saying no, and my need is still here, so I let my lips brush against the soft skin of her neck.

This already feels good, but not enough, my mouth barely pressed to her skin as I wait for an objection; when she doesn't give one, I release a breath and put a little more pressure behind my lips.

I want to touch her so fucking bad: my stomach tightening and arms aching. She makes this little sound that I want to hear again and again, but I deliberately keep my kisses slow, and in the same area, because some part of me is still waiting for her to freak out.

Bella has been such a tease since the day I met her, so finally having her beneath me—with my lips and tongue on her skin—seems surreal. And I don't want to stop.

I need my mouth on her; somewhere it hasn't yet been. I hesitate in asking if I can remove her shirt, only because the stubborn part of me doesn't want to _have _to ask. I don't want to second guess every word, every move. I want to kiss her whenever I want—I want to be able to tell her how fucking pretty she is without having her shut down.

My hesitation lasts for only a moment before I pull back a little, holding my weight with one hand on the mattress while my other slides down her side, her legs parting as my knee settles between her thighs. The bedsprings whine with my movement, my exhale slow as I raise my eyes to her face, sensing her watching me.

Her mouth is open and her chest heaves; I stare until I feel like I can't fucking breathe.

Bella's hair is spread out over my pillows, her legs opening wider as I push my knee a little higher, wanting to get closer—wanting to lower my hips and make her feel good.

My palm slides beneath her shirt, eyes recaptured as she squirms, like maybe she's ticklish; like maybe she likes my fingertips grazing her stomach.

She sighs, and I don't look away from her face as her hand slides between us; as her blinks become lazy and her breaths stutter. She only touches herself for a moment, but it's enough to get me so fucking hard I have to stifle a groan.

I start pushing up her shirt slowly. "Is this okay?" I ask, trying not to think about what her bare chest will feel like against mine; not able to think about anything else.

She doesn't respond straight away, and I think she's going to say no, but then she does it herself, removing the shirt completely before tossing it to the floor as she sinks back onto the mattress.

And then she's under me again, and topless, and I find it hard to think, because my thoughts are jumbled—my head full of too many things. I want to pull her underwear from her skin and put my mouth right there; I want to slide my dick between her legs until she begs me to push inside.

My hands grip the pillow on either side of her head, and maybe she's just as impatient as I am, because her back arches and her nails dig into my arms, the soft whine that leaves her mouth forcing my lips down her chest.

Her hands find my hair as I make my way down her body, fingers tugging as she tries to get me to pause at her tits. I like the sounds she makes and the way she tastes; the hard tugs she gives when I don't pay attention to the places she wants.

I kiss and lick and run my lips over her stomach, my stubble scratching lightly at her flesh, making her squirm. Her skin is so fucking soft, and I curl my hands high around her waist as I press my tongue against her nipples and nip at her curves.

She moans and presses my face closer, like she can't get enough, like she never wants me to stop. I kiss my way back up her chest until I'm braced above her, her lids just as hooded as mine feel, her mouth so fucking close.

I grit my teeth and give in to another urge instead, moving from my hands to my elbows as I finally lower my hips and press myself against her completely. I love the way she pulls my chest to hers; the way she lifts her hips to meet mine. It lets me know that maybe she needs this just as much as I do. Or maybe she just _wants _this. I'm the one who _needs _it.

My fingers tangle in her hair and I tilt her head back slightly, exposing more of her neck, quickly becoming obsessed with the way her racing pulse feels beneath my tongue. She releases a breath, my kisses traveling from her collarbone to the spot below her ear. I'm so close to her mouth, breathing heavily against her cheek as she rubs up against me over and over; as she slips her hand inside my boxers and wraps her fingers around my cock.

My head falls against her shoulder and I groan loudly, eyes squeezing shut as she begins to move her hand up and down. I'm drowning; I'm unable to do anything else.

Her grip tightens, and she runs her thumb over the head of my dick. I grunt and tense and—

"Shit," I breathe out, attaching my mouth to her chest.

My weight shifts as I move to lie beside her; I slowly glide a hand down her stomach, coming to a halt when I reach the elastic of the boxers. I wait a second, half expecting her to stop me, but then _she's _the one who started this, so I continue to slip my hand between her legs.

Her movements falter when my fingers brush against her. I almost want to ask her what she likes, what she wants, but instead I keep my gaze on her face as I slowly slide a finger inside of her, hoping her sounds and expressions will convey what words can't.

Her hips lift and her teeth dig into her bottom lip as I add a second finger. I watch her lips part, and just as I curl my fingers inside her, she makes the sexiest fucking sound I've ever heard in my life.

She loosens her grip on my dick entirely, and I bury my face in her neck; nipping at her skin, my voice is low and rough as I egg her on, telling her I like the noises she's making.

She pulls at the back of my hair as she arches her back. I keep my mouth on her neck, then bite her ear, causing her to buck into my hand.

And then_ her _hand suddenly joins mine between her legs, and I glance down and watch as she touches herself again, rubbing her clit.

"Holy fuck," I say roughly.

"Faster," she pants, closing her eyes.

I groan, resisting the urge to grab my dick as my fingers work inside her. I dip my head and place my mouth on her tit, teeth grazing her nipple, eliciting a whimper.

And then she becomes breathless, and her hips move faster, my focus on her expression—clenched eyes and bottom lip caught between her teeth—before she comes around my fingers, cursing as she lets go.

She rides out her high, rolling into my touch as erratic breaths turn calm. Once she stills, I slide my fingers from between her thighs, placing an open mouthed kiss to her shoulder.

And maybe that was the wrong thing to do, because her palms suddenly push against my shoulders as she forces me onto my back.

I'm about to ask what she's doing, but then she's on her knees, her gaze lifting from my crotch to my face as she curls her fingers around the waistband of my boxers and tugs.

The ends of her hair brush against my thighs as she wraps her hand around me and strokes... and lowers her head... anticipation causing my breaths to quicken—the sheets become fisted at either side of my body as I press the back of my head against the pillow and blink lazily up at the ceiling.

My stomach muscles tremble and my skin burns. I feel taut, stretched tight like elastic as impatience pulls at my limbs.

And then her mouth is on me, my lids lowering, and it's so fucking good and wet and warm. I groan and pant and grit my teeth; Bella's tongue swirls around my head, my body jerking as she takes more of me in.

My legs tense and my jaw goes slack; she sucks and licks and uses her hands when she can't go any further.

The air leaves my lungs and my chest heaves, and I can't think; my head clouds and my neck arches just as she removes her mouth completely, using only her tongue to drag up and down my length.

"Fuck," I say shakily, resisting the urge to look at what she's doing.

I battle against the instinct to watch, my fingers flexing around the covers, itching to grasp her hair instead and thrust into her mouth. She knows what she's doing to me; teasing me.

When she flattens her tongue against the head of my dick, and takes me in again, I hiss and moan and force my hips to still when they instinctively go to lift off the mattress.

There is a drum inside my head, inside my chest. My heart pounds and my pulse carries a practiced beat, filling my frame with blatant chaos. It drowns out my conscience and rushes through my veins; when Bella braces her free palm on my thigh, and her fingertips dig into my flesh, she releases this soft little moan that travels over every inch of my skin, causing me to groan in response.

I can't keep quiet, this darkness coveting sounds, her touch and attention pulling deep and drawn-out noises from me over and over again.

My muscles are tense, and her grip is firm as her mouth descends—as my teeth clench and my eyes squeeze shut.

I can feel myself growing harder, and I don't want to think about how she got to be so good at this, don't want to question anything else.

My cock slips between her lips and her teeth graze ever-so-slightly, causing a tremor to wrack through my body, _shudder _and _more_ and _holy shit_.

A grunt forces its way from my throat, followed quickly by a pull of air when her_ soft_ and _warm_ leaves. Cold air hits my dick; colder from the wet of her mouth. Her palm is still wrapped around me, though, stroking slowly—too slow. The pace is purposeful and maddening, and unable to stop myself this time, because J_esus-fucking-Christ_, I glance down to where she's driving me crazy and nearly come undone.

Bella's lips hover over my dick, the feel of her breath causing me to twitch; when I shift my attention from her mouth, to her eyes, the expression encased in dark brown makes my chest collapse and my throat tighten.

I can't look away, and I don't think she wants me to, gaze stuck on hers as I push myself up onto my elbows and watch. My jaw clenches and my shoulders ache—I am caught, a willing captive. I hate that I am—I won't move.

Bella once again holds me hers: with a look, with a touch, with a silent promise. She's taking control where I should demand it.

She likes to keep me suspended in this zone that is neither fully _friend _or _more_; pulling in a deep breath through my nose, I search her eyes, trying to find what I'm looking for.

_Don't think. Don't think. Don't think._

Tension radiates from my limbs as my elbows dig into the mattress, supporting my weight; Bella exhales slowly and pushes her hair aside before bending her head and rendering me dumb.

Her tongue teases tip, touches length and strokes base, causing my lips to part in silent sound, my hands no longer able to stay fisted by my sides.

I drag my left palm up her neck to cup her jaw, my touch lingering for a moment before I push my fingers through her hair and watch her lashes lower—she breaks our connection, and takes me into her mouth fully.

Curses resonate in an otherwise silent room, and my inhales shake, raspy inside a constricted space.

My heart-rate refuses to calm and my blood rushes; my face is hot and I'm close. "Bella," I say breathlessly. "I can't..."

I touch her shoulder, a warning, but she doesn't move, doesn't stop. She does that tongue thing again, swirling and teasing, and I'm lost.

My legs tense and my brows hunch; my back hits the mattress and my hand instinctively fists her hair, the sheets. With a trembling breath, I lose control and spill into her mouth, panting and moaning as my hips jerk and teeth clench—as she licks and sucks and swallows until my fingers release their tight hold.

There is no drama or lingering awkwardness that usually occurs during the _after _stages. She tugs up my boxers and climbs into the bed beside me, bitching at me for hogging all the covers.

She leaves me sated and confused, but I try not to think too much about it, meeting her eyes as I concede the duvet and try to calm the pounding inside my chest.

She stays all night, clinging to me in sleep once more, the sound of her soft breaths—the unconscious grasp of her fingers—things I refuse to let myself get attached to.

The following morning isn't as tense as the first time she woke up here; she doesn't return that night though, or the night after that. Or the days between.

Bella stays gone for an entire week this time, returning with a smile and wearing a shirt that is neither mine nor hers.

I tell myself I don't notice. I pretend I don't care.

I become really good at lying.

* * *

**Hiiii. We're so sorry this chapter took so long to get out. It's totally all my fault (hi, the British fail one here) as I was tied up with another story. Thank you so, so much for your patience. We really appreciate it.**

**The biggest thanks to Susan for being our amazing beta. And thanks to Nic for agreeing to pre-read this thing for us. We love them.**

**Reviews will get a teaser for the next chapter.**

**See you soon. xx**


	5. Done

**Disclaimer: No beagles will be harmed during the process of writing this story.**

* * *

_June 2008_

* * *

Edward

It's still early in the day, a little past two in the afternoon, and I'm halfway to being drunk. The sun is relentless, making my hairline sticky with sweat. Running a hand through the strands, I cause it to stand up.

I'm pretty sure I'm burning out here. Kate warned me I would, but I didn't listen. Her lotion smelled too girly, so I refused to put it on, and she called my skin _delicate_, so naturally I wanted to prove otherwise. I flip her off internally over how pink my chest is.

When there was a knock on my front door this morning, I assumed it would be Bella standing there. I knew she wasn't one for knocking, but I hadn't been expecting anyone else. I didn't _want_ anyone else. So when I opened the door and was greeted by Kate, I was both surprised and disappointed.

She was grinning and carrying a six-pack of wine coolers to celebrate her arrival in Corona for the summer. I teased her as I let her in, saying I didn't realize people still drank wine coolers; she responded by playfully punching my arm.

It didn't matter how much time passed without seeing Kate—or Garrett for that matter—our friendship never really changed. That's what I liked the most about them: it was easy, familiar, and I always knew what to expect.

After talking a bit about school and other things—I may have bragged about surviving half the year only eating ramen—we headed out back to drink by the pool.

Kate adjusts her lounge chair so she's sitting upright, then grabs her wine cooler to take a sip. When she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, I can't help but think of Bella. I shouldn't, but I do. I think about her again when Kate pulls her blonde hair back into a ponytail. Nothing about them is similar—they're complete opposites. But that doesn't keep my mind from lingering on thoughts of the girl across the street.

It's been three days since Bella was last over here: eating my food, driving me crazy. That's no time at all really, but it's still long enough to make me wonder what she's doing, who she's with, and when she's coming back.

"When does your mom get back into town?" Kate asks, wiping condensation from her bottle.

I squint at the sun, challenging it for few seconds before I'm forced to look away. "I don't know." I shrug. "She'll be back in a couple of months, I guess."

"Have you seen your dad?" she asks, flicking the water from her fingers before wiping her hand on her thigh.

I try to hide my frown. I've been home for a few weeks now, but the thought of visiting my dad hasn't crossed my mind once. I've been so caught up in everything _Bella_, I haven't been able to focus on anyone else. I shouldn't let it make me feel guilty, but it does. I try to remember that if my dad wanted to see me, he would have. I make a mental note to stop by his place in the next few days.

"No. I haven't seen him yet," I tell her, finishing my beer.

"God, you're such a recluse," she laughs, kicking at my chair. "How are you not lonely out here? Seriously, like, I'd go insane."

I smirk. "Upside of being a recluse: you never get lonely. We kind of like being by ourselves. And besides, _you're_ here right now. That hardly makes me antisocial," I tease, causing her to stick her tongue out at me. It's stained purple from the wine cooler she's been drinking.

"What about when I'm not here, though?" she questions, messing with the strings on her bikini bottoms. "Have you been hanging out with Garrett at all?"

"I've spoken to him a couple of times, but that's about it. His mom has him doing shit. And…" I pause, unsure if I should mention the girl who's living across the street for the summer; the girl who's been occupying my time and mind.

Kate pushes her sunglasses onto the top of her head and looks at me skeptically. "And what?"

My gaze shifts from her, to the empty beer bottle in my hand. I say nothing.

"Come on, dude," she pushes. "Tell me."

"I've kind of been hanging out with the girl across the street," I finally say.

A crease forms between her brows, and she pulls a face. "Wait, you've been hanging out with old Mrs. Clearwater?" Her mouth puckers—she's totally fucking with me.

I choke out a laugh. "No, you asshole. Mrs. Clearwater's niece, Leah, has a friend staying with them for the summer."

She thinks on this for a minute. "Do we know Leah?"

I shake my head. "Nah. She didn't go to school with us."

"Makes sense why I didn't recognize the name," she says, applying more sunblock to her arms. "So what's her friend's name?"

I fail when I try to hide my smile. It's not obvious, but it's there. "Bella."

Saying her name causes my heart to beat a little faster. I'm so fucked.

Kate is watching me closely now. Her eyes rove over my face unapologetically while I pretend I don't notice. I shouldn't have hesitated.

"What have you guys been doing?" she questions.

I clear my throat. "I don't know. Just hanging out."

It's her turn to hesitate this time. "Do you _like _her?" she presses, smiling.

"She's cool," I say, tossing my bottle onto the grass, as if that will somehow downplay whatever feelings I might have for her. I didn't want to make this a thing, and realize too late that maybe I shouldn't have mentioned anything to Kate. It's been so long since I've met a girl worth mentioning, and I forgot how fucking nosy Kate can be. When Bella's name came up in conversation with Garrett, he asked if she had a nice ass and that was it.

Before she can ask another question, I stand from my lounge chair and stretch my arms above my head. "Fuck, it's hot."

"Way to change the subject," she chuckles. "You totally fucking like her."

I flip her off. "Let's get in the pool."

She scoffs. "Screw that. I'm not getting in."

I dramatically drop my arms back to my sides. "What? Then why the hell are you here?"

She lowers her chair and lies back again, tilting her chin toward the sky with a small smile on her face. "I'm obviously here to work on my tan."

I let my eyes scan her body. I notice her long limbs, and stare at her skin that's already a golden brown. She's an attractive girl, sure—that much is obvious. But it's not enough to keep my mind from immediately thinking of Bella's body in comparison: her pale skin, her legs, her smile.

My stomach turns, because I hate that I can't _not_ think about her; not even for a few hours. I'm beyond fucked, and it's ridiculous.

I shake my head, trying to focus. "Why couldn't you have just tanned at your parents' house?"

"Why would I?" she questions. "You have these comfortable lounge chairs. Oh, and I obviously wanted to see you and catch up."

"So this has nothing to do with the fact that Garrett's coming by later?"

"You're so stupid," she insults, deliberately sliding her glasses back over her eyes. "And for the record, I didn't know he was coming by later."

"God," I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck to ease the burn I feel from the sun.

"_What_?" she asks in exasperation.

"Just fucking admit it already—you have a thing for Garrett." I've never really voiced it before. I blame my forwardness on the five beers I've consumed.

"Oh, yeah. I fucking _love_ him," she says in a joking tone. Her eyes are still hidden behind her glasses, but there has to be some truth to her words.

"Finally, you admit it," I say.

"Go swim or whatever," she mutters, waving me away. "You're annoying me. I'm trying to tan in peace."

"You working on your tan for Garrett?" I tease. It's stupid, but I know it will get to her.

"Oh, fuck you," she says, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"The fact that you're getting pissed is hilarious," I say, walking toward the edge of the pool.

"I'm not pissed," she protests, giving herself away. I smirk, and she picks up the bottle of sunscreen and chucks it at me. I step to the side to avoid being hit, and the bottle lands in the pool, creating a small splash.

"Right. You're clearly _not_ pissed," I chuckle, taunting her. "Nice aim, by the way."

I catch her smile before I turn my back, dropping the Garrett conversation. Crouching down, I stick my hand in the water to test the temperature. As I'm straightening back up, something cool pours over my head. It runs down my neck and over my shoulders, causing me to shiver.

I curse, spinning around to catch Kate with a triumphant smile on her face, and an empty wine cooler bottle in her hand.

"Serves you right, dickhead," she laughs.

I rake a hand through my wet hair and say, "You really shouldn't have done that."

Her eyes dart toward the pool, and she knows exactly what I'm about to do. I step toward her, and she giggles, trying to move out of my reach. But my arms are long and she's not fast enough. I grab her by the waist, pulling her back against my chest. I hate how she easily accepts my hands on her. It'd never be like this with Bella. She'd never be this carefree or playful with me.

"Screw you, Cullen. I swear to God if you throw me in the pool, you're fucking dead!" she yells, panic mixed in with a bit of laughter.

I shift us, and she shrieks, trying to plant her feet. But I tighten my hold on her waist and lift her a little so I'm the one walking us closer to the edge of the pool.

"I don't care," I say through laughter.

"You're such an asshole," she whines, squirming in my arms.

I'm about to toss her in the water, when something near the fence catches my eye. I turn my head, caught off guard to see Bella standing there with Cinnamon in her arms. Her hair's pulled away from her face and her lips are pressed together in a tight line. And though she's staring intently, her expression's hard to read.

Kate's still struggling to find a way out of my arms, unaware of Bella's presence. I immediately pull my hands away from her body as if her skin's just burned me. I'm not doing anything wrong—I_ know_ that—but the look on Bella's face makes me feel shitty.

Her eyes bounce between me and Kate for a few more seconds before her gaze drops. Feeling awkward, I hesitate before walking toward her. When I'm a few feet away, she places Cinnamon on the ground, who runs over to sniff around my feet. I crouch down and scratch behind her ears; she lets me for a second, before something across the yard gains her attention.

The three of us stand here in silence. It only lasts for about a minute, but it's enough to make me feel uncomfortable.

"Bella, right?" Kate asks before anyone else says a word.

"Yeah," she answers, ignoring Kate completely to shoot me a look.

I hate that she knows I was talking about her.

When she looks away, I finally speak up. "Bella, this is Kate," I introduce. "We've been friends since middle school," I add as an afterthought.

"Can you believe that?" Kate asks, shaking her head. "I've had to put up with this fucker for the past, like, seven years."

Bella, who is clearly not interested in this conversation, looks past us and calls out for Cinnamon, completely blowing her off. Kate immediately tenses—this is not the reaction she was expecting. This is not the reaction anyone would expect from someone they'd just met.

I clear my throat, hating the tension that seems to be present. "Kate just got back into town today," I tell Bella, who denies me her eyes. I don't know how she does that, when I find it so hard to keep mine off her.

Bella doesn't react to this, either, her focus on the mutt by her feet. Kate chuckles lowly beside me, and when I look over at her, her eyes are narrowed.

"I go to school in Florida," she says, the friendly tone in her voice long gone. It's clear to _me_ that she's trying to force Bella into conversation, but Bella doesn't seem to catch on. Or if she does, she's not biting.

"Florida, huh? Cool," Bella answers, mildly sarcastic. "Why are you here when you could be at the beach?"

Kate has Bella's attention now, but she doesn't reply straight away. Instead, she simply stares back at her, maybe trying to figure her out. I want to tell her not to try; that I've been doing that since the day I met her to no avail.

"I missed it here, in Corona," Kate finally answers. "I get homesick," she admits, briefly glancing at the sun that's currently hidden behind a cloud. "Where are you from, Bella?"

My pulse spikes. I already don't like where this conversation is going. I can sense Bella's hesitance, like she doesn't know how to answer this question. It makes me feel sorry for her. If she feels uncomfortable with this topic, though, she doesn't show it. The only thing she _does_ show is a look of disinterest.

"I'm not really from anywhere," she says vaguely, picking up Cinnamon.

Kate laughs, but only because she probably thinks Bella is joking. I get that—it's not a typical answer. But when Bella doesn't laugh with her, Kate's smile falters, realizing she's being serious.

I rub my eyebrow, trying to think of a way to step in and save her from this conversation, but she speaks before I can.

"I like to see different places, meet new people," she explains, as though what we have here is boring. "I can't really do that if I'm stuck in one place all the time."

I briefly feel Kate's eyes on me, but I don't look over at her. I hate the way this is going, and feel guilty for the half second where I wish Bella were normal. I just want her to give Kate typical, boring answers. I want her to laugh, and I want her to smile, because she's so fucking pretty when she does. There's a side of herself that she keeps hidden from others and I don't know why she's so insistent on keeping it that way.

Kate sighs before saying, "I wish I could travel." I can tell she's trying, and I'm so fucking thankful for it.

"So, uh… we were going to head into town to grab something to eat," I say, changing the subject. "You should come with us."

A slight breeze picks up, blowing loose strands of hair around her face. "I already ate," she mutters.

She stares at the ground, and I don't believe her. More often than not, she comes over here hungry. I don't want to call her out on this, so before she can lie again, I say, "It's my treat."

"I'm not hungry," she repeats, shutting me down.

"Okay," I say, trying to brush off the rejection.

Kate blows out a breath next to me, maybe trying to hold back from snapping; maybe sensing the awkwardness that lingers in the air. "Okay, well… I'm gonna go inside and change," she announces, looking pointedly at Bella. "It was nice to meet you." It's pretty obvious she doesn't mean it.

Bella merely nods, watching as Kate grabs her towel—and the few empty bottles littering the ground—before disappearing inside.

I'm the first to speak once we're alone. "Are you mad at me or something?"

"Why would I be mad at you?" Her head tilts to the side, her words making me feel like I was imagining her icy demeanor.

Her stare makes me tighten my jaw. I don't feel like dancing around this. "Kate's just a friend," I answer honestly.

There's no humor in her laugh. "Why would I care who she is to you?"

_Because you sleep in my bed. Because your mouth was on my dick last week, and_ _once you were asleep, your head was on my chest. Because you're here now._

I don't say any of that, though, because it's exactly how she wants me to react. I don't know many things about Bella, but I know she likes to put up walls. I know that if I start acting like this is _something_, she might stop coming around. So I play it off like she's right. Like she shouldn't care if I had another girl here; like she shouldn't be pissed if she found me fucking Kate by the pool.

"I didn't think you would," I reply, shrugging. But her expression lets me know that my words aren't convincing.

"Well, now that _that's_ cleared up…" She trails off sarcastically, scratching Cinnamon behind the ears. "I'm gonna go."

Without another word, she turns on the heel of her sneaker and moves to leave. I follow her to the fence, opening the gate for her. There's still tension between us, and I hate that she's leaving like this. She says she doesn't care who Kate is to me, but her actions say otherwise, as does the set of her mouth and the way she refuses to look at me for longer than two seconds.

"You wanna come by later?" I ask quietly.

"I have plans," she says flippantly.

I exhale slowly. "Okay."

"Okay," she echoes.

When I tell her bye, she doesn't repeat the word back to me. I watch as she walks away, crossing the road, until she's making her way in the house and out of sight.

After closing the gate, I run inside and quickly change, grabbing my keys and wallet.

"You ready to go?" I ask when I spot Kate already waiting for me by the front door.

She nods, and we make our way outside to my car. I try to keep my gaze away from the house across the street, but I fail. The garage is open and my eyes dart in that direction, hoping to catch sight of Bella. She's nowhere to be seen, though, and neither is her truck.

"I told you," Kate says smugly when I back out of the driveway. "You totally fucking like her."

+.+.+.+.+

Kate insists on grabbing food at the local diner. It's where we spent a lot of our nights in high school: after our football team had lost and before binge drinking. It's where Mallory Jenkins broke up with me, because she'd been fucking Ben Cheney behind my back, and it's where I went after my parents told me they were getting a divorce.

When we walk in, I expect to feel some type of suffocation, but I don't. None of those memories seem to have affected this place. It's neutral territory, unharmed by decisions of the past.

While we're eating, Kate reminisces, asking if I remember _this_ and remember _that_. I don't say much, but she keeps talking. I don't mind it, though. I prefer this. I'm usually the one doing all of the talking with Bella, and it's kind of a nice change to be the one to listen.

But I'm not _really_ listening to Kate. My mind is elsewhere. It's on the girl who bites her tongue when I ask too much; on the girl who distances herself when she senses I'm getting too close, and who pushes when I pull.

Halfway through our meal, my phone vibrates on the table, Garrett's name flashing across the screen. We talk for a minute, and he tells me he'll be by around six o'clock and that he's bringing a case of beer. I'm about to crack a joke about not forgetting to bring Kate wine coolers, but he beats me to it. He knows her even better than I do.

"Your treat, right?" Kate asks with a grin after the waitress brings us the check.

And just like that, my mind is back on Bella.

I feel slightly pathetic, realizing I offered to buy her food just so she'd come eat with us. I try to mimic Kate's smile, but it feels forced. Pulling my wallet out of my back pocket, I toss a few bills on the table before standing.

It's just past four when we leave the diner, and though the sun is lower in the sky now, it's still hot. We walk down the sidewalk, staying in the area that's shaded from an awning that runs the entire length of storefronts along this part of the street.

"Do you need anything while we're in town?" I ask Kate, peering inside the dusty window of a pawn shop as we pass by.

She hums, deciding, "Nah. We should head back."

"What's the rush?" I laugh, messing with her.

"There's no rush," she tries covering. "I mean, Garrett's going to be at your place soon, so…"

"Yeah, he said six," I deadpan. "We still have two hours." And maybe I don't want to go back home, where I'll be tempted to glance out the window; where I'll listen for Bella's truck driving down the road.

"We should head back, anyway. I need to shower and stuff."

"_And stuff,_" I mock in a girly voice. "Like get dressed up for Garrett?"

She laughs, but shoves my shoulder. "Oh, shut the fuck up."

"Edward?" I hear someone call out. I'm not sure who I'm expecting to see, but I'm definitely not expecting to find Leah standing there, sly smile on her face.

"Oh. Hey," I reply, slightly deflated.

"I thought it was you," she says, eyes flicking to Kate. She assesses her for a second, her face not revealing whatever she's thinking. "I thought Bella was with you."

"Uh, no. She came by earlier, but then she left." I pull on the back of my neck, feeling tense. I hate knowing that neither of us really knows where Bella is right now.

Kate introduces herself to Leah. It's less awkward than when she met Bella earlier, but I think that has to do with the fact Leah's a lot better at faking nice. I don't really know anything about this girl, but there's definitely something that puts me off.

Leah's phone chimes, and she taps away at the screen, asking, "Hey, do you guys know Tyler Crowley?"

"Kind of," Kate speaks up. "We went to high school with him. He was on the football team. Total douche."

Quirking an eyebrow, Leah says, "He's having a party tonight. Three kegs."

"He's a great guy," Kate quickly corrects. "Real sweetheart."

"You two should stop by his place later. There's going to be a shit ton of people there," Leah tells us. She stares pointedly at me as she adds, "Bella will be there."

"Yeah, uh…" I scratch my head. "That might be fun."

Kate nods, asking, "Can we bring our friend Garrett?"

"I don't give a fuck," Leah snorts, before rattling off an address.

+.+.+.+.+

Tyler Crowley's place is on the opposite side of town. The people who own property out here have a crazy amount of money; their houses are large and the expanse of land around their homes provides them with a ton of privacy. So, naturally, it's the perfect setting to throw a kegger.

The sky is dark and the open field surrounding us makes the road feel eerie and deserted. I get turned around twice, which Kate and Garrett seem to find hilarious. I threaten to drop their asses off on the side of the road if they don't shut up, but that only fuels their laughter. It's nice, though, having them around again. Their constant bickering is a welcome distraction from worrying about how Bella will react to seeing me at the party.

When Kate and I got back to my house earlier, she disappeared into my mom's bathroom for almost an hour and a half. During that time, I took a quick shower, threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, drank two beers, and watched mindless television. She reappeared in the living room just before Garrett showed up, wearing makeup and showing too much skin.

With the three of us hanging out—pre-drinking before a party—it felt like old times. Since I was going to be the one driving, I didn't join in when Kate challenged us to see who could shotgun the most beers in one minute. Garrett won, and hadn't shut up about it since.

I notice lights shining in the distance, so I keep driving, thinking that's where I need to be. The area seems familiar. I remember coming to a house out here a few times in high school, when getting wasted on cheap beer and breaking curfew was one of the only things to do in this town.

We reach an open gate as the road dead-ends. I squint to make out the numbers on the mailbox, making sure I'm at the right house. When Kate assures me it's the same address Leah gave her, I slowly inch the car down the gravel driveway, and park as far away from the house as I can to make sure no one blocks me in.

Bass can be heard from outside, its thump mimicking the one in my chest as we follow behind a group of girls who arrived a few seconds before we did. I can't focus on the chatter that's going on around me because I'm too fucking nervous to see Bella. This will be the first time we've hung out outside of my house, with other people, and I have no idea what to expect.

Making our way to the back of the house, I quickly scan the area. There's a group of people surrounding a keg. There's a game of beer pong happening on the porch, and a few guys sitting on a trampoline, passing around a pipe.

"Go get me a beer," Garrett instructs Kate, who rolls her eyes.

"I'm not your beer bitch," she tells him, sauntering off toward the keg.

"You lost the shotgun competition!" he calls out after her. She keeps walking, not bothering to turn around as she flips him off.

I shake my head, laughing.

Garrett slaps my chest. "You want a beer?"

"Yeah, sure," I say, clearing my throat. "I'm gonna head inside for a second and see if Bella's in there."

Garrett smirks, telling me they'll wait by the game of beer pong, before following Kate.

I walk through the back door, into the kitchen. A circle of people block my path, and my steps are unapologetic as I maneuver behind them, my shoulder brushing against some of their backs. One of the guys in the group—the one who is handing out shots—looks vaguely familiar. I probably had a class or two with him in high school, but I don't dwell on it or make a move to speak to him.

The living room is sort of crowded, filled with people who are too drunk, speaking too loud, fighting to be heard over the bass that's thumping from speakers near the fireplace.

My eyes roam across the faces in the room, until I spot the one person I'm here for. Bella's hair is up, away from her face. Her cheeks are flushed, and she tilts her head a little too far back, laughing at what some guy is saying. I can't see his face, but I can tell from his build and hair color that he's not Jasper.

It's almost weird, seeing her outside of my house; seeing the way she interacts with people who aren't me. She's not the girl who occasionally sleeps in my bed at night, and I'm not the guy who thinks about her all the time.

Some girl bumps into my shoulder, jolting herself more than me, and I kind of steady her as some of her drink spills onto my arm. She laughs, apologizing as she attempts to wipe the liquid away. The beer is lukewarm on my skin, and I shake my arm out before wiping it on my jeans.

"Hi," the girl says, and I meet her eyes for only a second.

"Sorry about that," I apologize, even though it wasn't my fault. Her face is pretty, but her eyes are a little lazy, a sign of too much alcohol. Her tits are practically hanging out of her top, and she isn't the least bit discreet as she gives me a once over. Normally, I'd offer to fill her beer and make small talk, but I'm not here for that; not interested.

"You from around here?" She speaks slowly, her words slurring together. Before I have a chance to answer, her fingers are wrapping themselves around the collar of my shirt, an attempt to gain my full attention. And then I'm not entirely sure her bumping into me was an accident.

I pull out of her grip and force out a chuckle, then shake my head as I insist she's confused me with someone else; someone who's interested and looking for a quick fuck in the bathroom. I don't say the last part, but it's implied. She rolls her eyes and stomps away, focusing on the next guy nearest to her.

When I turn back in Bella's direction, she's whispering in the guy's ear. Her hand is wrapped around his neck, while his hands are on her waist, fingers inching down until he's cupping her ass. I want to look away, but I don't. My heart races with every passing second. I just stand there and watch, feeling and looking completely pathetic.

She pulls back, just a bit, and the two of them laugh over whatever she whispered. With his hands still on her, she turns to her right, staring in my direction but not _seeing_ me. It's unnerving. I want to move, but her eyes find mine before I can. I doubt she fucking knew I was here, so there's no way she was looking for me. The surprised look on her face says it all: she didn't invite me here. I'm not wanted.

I offer her a tight-lipped smile anyway, because I don't know what else to do. I don't want her to know that I'm screaming inside. She doesn't return the gesture, and it makes me feel stupid. I hate that I expected her to be somewhat happy to see me. I hate that I expected _anything_ from her.

I'm trying to decide whether to leave altogether, when she turns back to the guy who still has his hands on her ass. She smiles, so pretty and wide. I want to punch him in the fucking face. He doesn't deserve the way she's staring at him. This guy, who she probably just met tonight, who couldn't possibly know anything about her.

I lock my jaw and exhale through my nose, so fucking tired of this game. I'm about to walk away when her lips find his neck. She nips at his ear, but her eyes are on me. I feel sick, but I can't look away. She doesn't want me to, either—she's doing this deliberately. My fists clench the same moment her lips kiss from his jaw to the corner of his mouth.

The guy moves his hands to the small of her back before sliding one of them up under her shirt to grab at her tits. Their mouths mash together, frantic and so sloppy. She's tangling her fingers in his hair and he's pulling her closer and _she's kissing him._ She's always so guarded with me, but she's kissing this guy, in the middle of this party, and I hate her. _I hate her_.

Her eyes flick back in my direction. She holds my gaze, and I hope it fucking burns her.

I want to scream at her; I want to shake her for this power she has over me. I want to leave. I want to light a cigarette, and I want to fuck that girl who spilled her beer on me, to see if it would piss her off.

I storm out the way I came in, but there are a few people hanging around on the back porch, laughing and talking and having the fucking time of their lives. I move past them and walk around the side of the house until I'm alone and standing in the driveway.

I pull at my hair, so hard that I'm afraid it might rip out of my skull. I kick the trash can a few times until it tips over, garbage spilling onto the pavement. It's not enough, so I kick the garage. The steel door shakes, and it sounds like thunder.

Instead of trying to catch my breath, I pull out a pack of cigarettes from my pocket, nearly crushing them with my grip. I cram the filter between my lips and light up. With an inhale, my blood is still boiling. When I exhale, I expect my frustration to blow away, but it doesn't.

I'm on my second cigarette when Bella finds me outside. I'm sitting against the garage, and she sits down next to me. The lone bulb attached to the house shines from above us. It casts a yellow light on everything within its perimeter. I hate that she looks pretty under this shitty lighting.

I put out my cigarette between us, smothering the burning tip against the cement. Bella doesn't speak, doesn't look over at me, which only pisses me off more. _She _followed me outside. _She_ came after me.

I hate to be the first to speak, but I can't stand the silence.

"I don't fucking understand you," I spit.

She finally turns and meets my gaze. Her eyes are glassy, but I don't mistake that for remorse: she's high.

Refusing to utter another word, I wait for her to speak. And when she finally does, I hate her even more.

"What are you doing here, Edward?" she asks casually.

I have to count to ten in my head before I can answer her. "Leah invited me."

"Why would she do that?" she asks, bringing a red plastic cup to her lips, hiding her face for a moment. I want to slap the cup out of her hand.

"I don't know, Bella," I fume, shaking my head. "I really have no fucking clue."

"If I wanted you here, I would've invited you," she states calmly, looking me directly in the eyes.

I breathe through my nose. "Who was that guy?"

"Which one?" she questions, playing dumb.

"The one you fucking kissed!" I yell incredulously.

She shrugs. "Does it matter who he is?"

My laugh is humorless. "It should matter to you."

"Well, it doesn't. It shouldn't matter to you, either," she scoffs.

"Probably not. But it does."

She runs her tongue between her lips before looking away. "Why?"

"I don't know, Bella. Maybe because I give a fuck about what happens to you? Maybe because I like you?"

"Oh my God," she says, voice mock sweet. "You _like_ me? That's so cute."

She returns her eyes to my face, smile playing on her lips, waiting for a reaction. So, I give her one.

"Fuck you," I erupt, jumping to my feet. "You made me think—"

"I made you think _nothing_," she interrupts. "We're _friends_," she emphasizes, even laughing.

"Well, you're a shitty friend," I stress, staring down at her. "Maybe that's why you have none. Maybe that's why you live this sad fucking life."

I've finally gotten to her. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"I don't know, Bella, let's see. You camp out in my fucking house. You steal my shirts and my food and my fucking time. You'll sleep in my bed and you'll suck my dick, but every time I've tried to kiss you, you've shut me down. Then tonight, after all this shit, I find you kissing some dude you don't even fucking know. You waited until I was watching and you stuck your tongue down his throat. Maybe that's my problem. Maybe _you're_ my fucking problem."

With my harsh words, I expect her to scream back, but she doesn't.

"Yet you're still here," she says quietly.

"No, I'm not," I reply, walking backward. "I'm done."

+.+.+.+.+

I can't seem to close my eyes long enough to sleep.

And I don't want to think about Bella, but I can't seem to stop doing that either.

I wish I could stop caring about her, stop replaying that fucking kiss in my head—the actuality of it winding me up inside—but there's no respite, because sleep won't come and cigarettes burn too fast.

I feel like I'm going crazy.

After dropping Kate and Garrett home, I took a long shower and climbed into bed. The room stayed dark and I watched minutes turn into hours before giving up and throwing my clock across the room. It felt good to watch the numbers die, to make time disappear. I took comfort in its blank screen and wished the same could be said for the empty space beside me.

My phone soon followed and I tried not to punch the wall.

_Fuck her_.

Kate tried getting me to stay with her after the party. I think she could tell something was wrong, but I was an ungrateful asshole and didn't want to talk about it.

"Come on, E. I think I have a few wine coolers left from earlier. Maybe you'll get lucky and find a strawberry daiquiri in the fridge. I know how those are your favorite."

She was trying to lighten the mood by teasing me, but I wanted to be alone, so I brushed her off.

"Not tonight, Kate."

"I'll throw in some beer," she offered, tapping the roof of my car.

I gripped my hands around the steering wheel, thinking about Bella. "No, thanks."

"Edward—"

"Fuck, Kate, I said not tonight," I snapped, turning my gaze on her.

She took a step back, palms out in front of her. "Forget I asked."

I ran my hand down my face, sighing between my fingers. "Sorry," I mumbled, honestly meaning it. I shouldn't have been taking it out on her.

"It's fine," she said, staring off to the side as she crossed her arms over her chest. But it wasn't.

"It's not, I'm being a dick." I swallowed hard, leaning my head back against the headrest for a second. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" I licked my lips and flicked a glance her way.

She nodded. "Okay. Tomorrow."

"Alright." I shot her a weak smile before pulling away from the curb.

I felt like a piece of shit, but the only person I wanted to talk to was the one person I didn't.

The ceiling fan drones above my head. I watch its blades rotate, the air drying out my eyes. My lids fall shut before opening again. I keep waiting for sleep to find me, but it maintains its distance.

Swinging my legs over the side of the mattress, I drop my head in my hands and rub my palms over my cheeks.

Bella said we were friends. It's something she's said before, and again, I wonder if she truly understands the meaning behind that word, because the way she presents herself is anything but _friendly_.

She is not my friend.

She is not my anything.

Even after all of the shit she pulled tonight, I'm still thinking about her… I still _like_ her. It's eating away at me. I don't hate her and I don't love her, but I like her. I'm not stupid enough to believe that's a good thing.

What I want is not rational: it's not wise or good for me, because Bella's not good to herself. She thinks she is: she thinks she's mature and free and fulfilling some essential goal in life by traveling light and not forming relationships. But her aspirations are all twisted.

If she acts like she doesn't care, it doesn't make her brave or different or inspirational. If anything, it makes her selfish and scared and cruel.

It means she's a teenage girl.

Sometimes I forget that's exactly what she is.

I wasn't supposed to fall for a girl this summer—that was not part of the plan. Especially a girl like Bella, who carries more figurative baggage than literal and treats me like I don't matter.

There have been girls before her, some more serious than others, but this one seems to be sticking.

She makes me sorry every single day.

I walk to the window and light a cigarette, blowing the smoke outside. When Bella isn't consuming my time, she's consuming my thoughts. When she isn't in my bed, she's in someone else's. When she trulysmiles, her whole face changes, showing the girl I think she is beneath.

I could lie and say it's the promise of _that _girl that has me sticking around, but it's not. It's all of her.

I like Bella despite herself. I like Bella despite the voice inside my head that tells me to run. I like Bella despite the way she likes me.

My head is throbbing, an ache behind my eyes. It's hard being around her sometimes: she has the ability to make even the biggest room feel small. I take another drag of my cigarette, exhaling through my nose. I know I don't have the right to get angry over her behavior—she's not my girlfriend, she doesn't owe me anything—but it doesn't stop it from happening. It doesn't stop her from sending me mixed signals. It doesn't mean the things she says to me don't hit me like a punch to the gut.

I don't want to care about her—my life would be a lot simpler if she wasn't in it—and yet I can't seem to stop.

I hate how the thought of her gone causes my mouth to go dry.

I finish the cigarette and flick the butt out the window before tugging on a pair of jeans. I figure if I can't sleep, I might as well get up. While I'm searching for a shirt, I hear the front door open and close. My entire body immediately tenses; not because I don't know who it is, but because I do, and I don't want her here right now.

I sit back on the bed, fooling myself into believing this minimal distance matters. I take a deep breath. I should have remembered to lock the front after I returned home tonight. I could ask myself why I didn't, but I don't think I'd like the answer.

A strange mixture of anger and relief clouds my head as my bedroom door is pushed open and light from the hallway swallows the carpet. Bella comes into view, the atmosphere instantly changing with her appearance. The air turns static and the hair on the back of my neck stands up… but she doesn't look at me. Her head is down and her steps are a little clumsy with liquor, a little clumsy because of the hour. My eyes followheras she walks further into the room, her throat cleared as she pauses by my desk. I swallow thickly and chew on words that I don't release.

I told her I was done. I walked away. I don't know which part of that she didn't understand.

Her eyes linger on my bare chest, while mine focus on her mouth, making me feel something other than angry.

"What are you doing here, Bella?" I ask, scrubbing my hands through my hair as I turn my face toward the window. "I told you I was done."

Bella's gaze is hot on my cheek: I can feel it like a burn. She wants my attention now that she doesn't have it—this seems to be the only time she actively seeks me out—but I don't give her my eyes; not yet. Instead I bounce my knee and stare down at my hands.

When she isn't here—when we're fighting—it's easy to stay in control of my resolutions. I tell myself I won't let her affect me anymore. But when she's here and quiet and staring at me with those pretty eyes, those eyes she likes to use against me, it's not as simple as any of that.

When we're alone in my room like this, she doesn't ignore me.

When we're alone in my room like this, I can almost fool myself into thinking she gives a shit about me.

I want her gone.

"I was bored," she says simply, as if the answer should be obvious. There's a pause before she continues with, "And I know you didn't mean it."

I will myself to disagree with her, to tell her to get out, but my heart beats fast and the words don't come.

Lifting my head, I watch as she leans back against the wall, making herself comfortable. Her legs are crossed at her ankles and the laces in her boots are undone. Bella's hair is loose around her shoulders and her shirt's not buttoned all the way. The sight of it makes my throat feel funny.

When I meet her stare, her look is expectant. Her brows are raised and her face is calm. But there's something else there, too. For a second, she almost looks nervous. Feeling self-conscious, I drop my gaze to her chest and deny us both.

The bra she's wearing makes her tits look bigger. Normally, I'd like it, the way they're all pushed up like that. But her shirt isn't undone because she wants me to do something about it. Her skin is showing because she's been fucking around with someone else.

Biting back a bitter laugh, I run my palm over my stubble and train my gaze on the floor. "You're not sleeping in here tonight," I tell her.

I don't know when it happened, but Bella eventually stopped sleeping in her bed and started sleeping in mine. It became a thing: she'd turn off the TV and take my hand and strip to her underwear before climbing under the covers.

Each time she led me from the couch to my room, she'd get this look on her face, something almost shy. Her hand would hold mine tight and her eyes would evade my own, like she was too stubborn to ask me to come with her, but wanted it all the same.

I never questioned her about it, because I wanted it, too, and though she never said the words aloud, I think she liked the idea of someone holding her while she slept. I don't think a guy had ever just held her that way before without expecting something in return.

While she always rolled away as soon as she became aware of our position in the mornings, she wasn't so quick to leave anymore; she came back hours later. I'd become a habit: one that only got broken on nights like tonight, when she wanted to push me away.

Maybe that's why I couldn't sleep earlier, because I've gotten used to her breath on my neck and her hair in my face; the push of her toes against my ankle when she turns over; the warmth of her fingers on my chest as she struggles to get closer.

Maybe that's why she's here now, though I know she'd never admit it.

"You realize what time it is, though, right?" I question, all the frustration from earlier tonight barreling back through me as she stands here looking so fucking pretty and so fucked up. "I could have been sleeping." Her eyes are locked on mine, fueling my resentment. "You can't just walk in here and expect me to keep you company because you have nowhere else to go," I say. "Not anymore."

But that's not entirely true. I've been letting her do this since the day we met—I've become reliant on her company—and I'm letting her do it again now, because she's still here.

"I wasn't aware you still had a bedtime," she replies through a chuckle. She presses the tip of her finger against the corner of my desk, scratches it with her nail. "Do I need to call your mommy and get her permission for a sleepover?" Her voice is sweet, sticking to the back of my throat.

I try to ignore her words, knowing she's drunk, but how do you run from something inside your own head?

"I'm not the kid here," I point out.

I flick my eyes back and forth between hers, waiting for her to speak, and when she does, I wish she hadn't.

"I was old enough to suck your dick last week," she says, looking so fucking arrogant as she slides her fingers through her hair. The flat of her boot hits the wall as she bends one leg at the knee, changing her position. "I wasn't a kid then."

I drag in a deep breath through my nose before releasing it slowly. Her intentions are clear—she's looking for a fight. My face pulses with heat and my chest heaves. I'm thinking about it; thinking maybe I want that, too; thinking I've been looking for another argument ever since I left her alone outside that house tonight.

I'm carrying enough anger for one. I'm holding enough resentment. And I know she wouldn't disappoint: her flushed face tells me that.

Bella's confidence in this moment is unrivaled—she's not the young girl I sometimes think she is while standing here in front of me. Her nerve doesn't falter, and I hate how simple this is for her: how she's looking at me, how I want her to stop; how I know she won't.

I rake my fingers through my hair, hating how she fogs everything up inside my head. "I'm not doing this with you right now," I say, flattening my hands against the mattress.

"Of course you are," she argues when I go to push myself off the bed. I clench my jaw and stay silent. "Tell me to leave," she taunts, testing the control she has. "Tell me to get out." Her eyes pin me in place, daring me to answer.

I want to—I know I should. She's like a cancer: I should cut her out. But the words dry up in my mouth. I'm trying so hard to be patient, to not be that guy—the one she's used to. Maybe I should do it, though… be him: push her skirt up to her waist and fuck her against the wall. She'd like it, I could make her feel good; I'd feel even better. None of this would matter. I could get her out of my system, let the poison bleed out. But I'm not sure it would change anything. Afterwards, she'd leave and I'd feel shitty… Bella would stay away altogether.

While I want to fuck her, it's not all I want, and maybe that's the problem.

With my back bowed, and my eyes on her, I take in her smudged makeup and her messy hair… her glassy gaze—but none of it helps. Her appearance only makes things worse.

"The guy didn't want to stick around?" I ask her, the words landing heavily in my gut.

Bella blinks at me slowly. I know this expression—I get a sick satisfaction out of it. The way everything about her goes still apart from the movement of her lashes. The way all thoughts inside her head are put on pause but me.

Maybe that's why I said it… maybe I want her angry so I don't feel so alone in this fucked up thing we keep doing here. Maybe I like her this way because it's the only time she's honest with me.

A kind of breathy sigh parts her lips, a laugh that gets stuck in her chest. "Edward," she says with a tilt of her head, like I'm something funny, something to be laughed at. The sound makes me feel completely transparent.

My mouth is dry, my neck hot with embarrassment. I want a cigarette; I want to go sit outside, remove myself from this situation. I can feel how tense my face is, how my hands make fists, and don't know why I'm letting her get to me, because none of this is new: Bella only comes to me when she has no one else.

I drop my gaze to her mouth, the amusement there, how it sticks to her teeth: this is not the way I want to make her smile.

"I didn't fuck him," she tells me, and my brow buckles, because I don't understand why she's lying about this when it's beyond obvious she did.

She tells me again, and my neck strains with the urge to nod, but I don't let myself. I saw firsthand the way she acted in that room; stomached the way she touched and whispered and encouraged; swallowed against the disgust that clogged my throat. It provoked something inside me I didn't even know was there, and I know it would be easier to forget—know that's what she wants—but I can't.

Her head is held high, but it doesn't look natural this time—she's not as confident as she was before. I want to shut her out, but instead we stay like this, neither one of us speaking.

It doesn't matter how many times we keep doing this, it never seems to be enough. We always end up here, in some sort of standoff, fighting for different things in different ways. I should walk out—let her take my bed if that's why she's here—because despite her bullshit, I like her eyes. I like the way they make me feel, and I shouldn't, because it means nothing.

Her turning up here, full of excuses and lies, looking more like a stranger to me than she ever has before, means nothing.

"Yes, you did," I say with a hard swallow. "You fucked him." My inhale gets stuck in my chest a little, and I have to look away from her. Not that it matters—I can still feel her watching me.

"Is this what this is?" she asks, gesturing to my tense posture on the edge of the bed with a swirl of her finger. Her tone gets softer. "Are your feelings hurt?" she questions, mocking me.

I rub my palms down my thighs, trying to calm down. "No."

She leans forward a little, her back still mostly to the wall. "Good to know I'm not the only liar in this room." Her voice is hushed, but direct, and a humorless chuckle escapes my mouth as I lose a little bit of my frustration to the sound.

The smile on her face is forced and small as I stare back at her—its appearance tugs at my patience, willing it to snap. She shrugs, but her gaze is as punishing as mine.

"How did you get here?" I ask, looking to her legs, her mouth, back to her eyes. I'm trying to prove a point.

Another smile tugs at her lips, but it's not the one I like—this one kind of makes her look like a bitch. "Leah drove me."

"Right," I say, knowing she's lying—she wouldn't be smirking like that if she wasn't.

"What, did you expect me to call you?" she questions. Her head is tipped back, brown strands mashing into blue paint. There's a brief pause where all we do is watch; a handful of seconds where I think she won't say anything else. "Why would I do that?" she continues, staring down her nose to where I remain sitting. "It's not like I need you or anything."

Her reply barely hits my ears: it's funny how loud a whisper can feel in the head.

She wanted this. There is a glint in her eyes, a silent kind of satisfaction. This is why she came here. This is her letting me know that it doesn't matter how many times I walk away, she will always win.

I spit out a laugh and fist my hair. "Then why the fuck are you here?" I shout, feeling the rawness in my throat. My heart pounds, my pulse thick at my wrists, chaotic in my ears. I hate that this is who I am when I'm around her.

Bella says nothing, her expression different now, closed off. She isn't smiling at me or mocking me. Her lips are pressed shut, and even her silence is brutal.

"I think you should go now," I say lowly when I can't take it anymore.

The words are harsh and clumsy from my mouth and my palms feel sweaty. I don't like this game, the one where she tries to make me feel like shit; the one where I get trapped up in her and don't feel like myself.

The silence between us stretches while my heart rate refuses to calm: I feel like I'm being pulled with it.

I wonder if she's sorry; wonder if she understands the concept of an apology. The expression on her face tells me that no, she doesn't; that even if she did, she'd do nothing with it.

With my elbows braced on my knees, I train my eyes to the floor, no longer able to meet her gaze.

I know I mean nothing to this girl; this girl who drives from state to state, upturning lives as she goes. This girl who would rather say goodbye than hello and leaves me empty in response to all the things I give her. This girl who made sure I was watching her as she kissed another guy.

If she says she's sorry, it means she cares, and she tries so hard not to. Or maybe she doesn't struggle with that at all. Maybe I'm the only one trying here.

I push down on the pressure that rises in my chest, hating the ache, hating that it's there, hating that I fucking like her. The worst part is that I'm not sure it's ever going to go away, because Bella is going to continue to do what she wants with whom she wants and there won't be a thing I can do about it.

She doesn't want a boyfriend, and I shouldn't want a girl who fucks other guys.

My muscles tense with her movement, because instead of leaving, she's moving closer; along with the light from the hallway, the room feels warm. She pauses in front of me, but I don't move from my position. My mouth twists in annoyance and I breathe deep. I hear our breaths and nothing else. They're all I can focus on; they keep me from pulling her down into my lap like I want to.

I watch her feet as she takes another step, but I don't attempt to touch her. I don't know if her brows are creased or if her mouth is hard, and it's driving me crazy, the nearness, the not knowing. I can feel her expectancy, though, penetrating my skin as she waits for me to look up at her: it rolls in waves and threatens to suffocate.

I think she was prepared for me to change my mind when she came here tonight; for me to tell her we were okay, that we could forget about it and sleep and pretend it didn't matter what she did outside this house. That the fact she came back here after fucking someone else isn't tearing me up inside.

But I haven't.

I'm steadfast, and she doesn't like it.

So she does what she knows, which kills me just as much as her words.

Her fingers brush the back of my neck and trail over my scruff, causing the muscles in my jaw to tick. I hate how good it feels and how much I like her hands on me like this.

I hate that she thinks I'm weak enough to want it.

I hate that she knows.

Her touch is right and wrong all at the same time, like she has this fucked up ability to simultaneously drain my energy and spike my blood. But I'm not stupid. Bella doesn't do this: affection. This show of weakness comes with a price. This form of apology isn't really an apology at all.

Her fingers slide a little lower and my eyes close. "Don't," I say, not wanting the memory of her hands on me like this. She runs her nails down my throat, her pressure light, harder when I don't give in. "Don't," I repeat, when she doesn't listen.

She's so much smaller than me—she's still a fucking child—yet she's the one with all the power.

I wonder if I could take it; I wonder if she'd let me.

Bella steps further between my legs until she's able to straddle my thighs; her hands clutch my shoulders and my teeth clench as she settles over me. I should push her away, but I'm scared that if I move, I'll end up doing the exact opposite.

Her smell immediately clouds my head, her warmth unbearable. When her bare knees skim my sides, I lean back, but that only ends up tipping her forward, bringing her closer. Her palms are crushed against my ribs. Her mouth is against my ear. I grasp the sheets at either side of me and run my tongue between my lips, staring at the spot where her neck and shoulder meet.

"Fucking stop," I breathe out, screwing my eyes shut as she presses her lips to my skin. "You're drunk."

She makes a sound, something small and impatient, something I shouldn't like as much as I do. "You don't want to fuck me?" Her voice is hushed like a whisper, making me shiver.

Pulling back, we make eye contact for a second, and I grit my teeth.

I like hearing those words from her, like the way she says them. I imagine the way her head would tip back as I fucked her, how my hands would guide her hips, how her tits would bounce, how wet she would be.

I don't say anything for the longest time, but when I do, the words are low and gritty from the back of my throat. "Not like this."

My heart thunders inside my chest as we sit on my bed as though this is any other night, as though this is normal; as though this is something we have. But it's not. It's different this time, because I'm not the one doing the holding; it's different this time, because although her hair is in my face and her breath is on my neck, none of this is for comfort.

Her fingers continue to coast along my skin, and I feel sick, imagining where else her hands have been tonight. "Stop acting like you give a shit," I whisper, jerking away from her touch. "It doesn't suit you."

She takes a moment, my face studied. "Is this because of the guy?" she asks me, forcing me to look at her. "I'll tell you if you want," she whispers, biting my chin, ignoring the protest in my eyes. "I'll tell you how he fucked me up against the side of that house, and how I bit his shoulder as I came, because he told me to be quiet… because he didn't want anyone to hear." Her words make my stomach churn, my skin burn. She swallows audibly and I feel paralyzed. "Apparently he had a girlfriend."

My limbs are heavy and my tongue feels numb. Bella's brows are tugged down and there is nothing I want more in this moment than to unmeet her.

I don't understand this feeling, this pull between sense and desire, how she can make me weak and pathetic and angry and torn. How I can want her gone, but here, and how the image her words bring won't leave me alone.

I turn my head to the side, not wanting her to see my expression, but this only seems to spur her on. Her voice is different this time, though—more monotone—and she'll no longer look me in the eye.

"Your heart is beating really fast," she comments, my breath shuddering as she slides her hands down my chest, lower, stomach muscles contracting under her touch. "Are you upset? Are you jealous?"

A strained laugh pushes its way from my throat. "You're a bitch."

She hums. "You _like_ me," she retaliates, her breath hitting my lips as she leans forward. "You're sweet, and sensitive, and have all these expectations," she murmurs, holding my cheeks. "But we're not dating."

I grab her wrists, her palms pressed to my skin. "I haven't asked you for shit," I stress, hating how rough my voice sounds.

The ends of her hair brush my bare arms as her eyes hold mine. "You want me to go?" she questions, her voice too breathy, too nice.

"Yes," I say, tugging her hands from my face. She says nothing, becomes pliant. "I'm not your toy. You can't keep playing with me like this."

Bella has this way of getting inside my head: she cements herself in my thoughts and watches as I try to break free from her hold. I think it's the struggle she likes, the indecision and desire that radiates from me to let her take what she wants. It doesn't matter what I say, sometimes I think she can read me better than I can read myself. She's doing it now, watching me with those dark eyes, like she knows exactly what I'm thinking, but in this instance, I'm not sure she does.

I wonder if she knows I can't stand looking at her right now… that I think I hate her… that I'm a liar… that I want to pin her to the mattress and push my dick between her legs; that I want to be rough and prove her right. That I can make her feel so good she'll stay, and need me, despite her words.

Before I can stop her, before I can say any of this, her arms are crossed, lifting her shirt over her head. Her tits are there and my eyes look and I remember the sounds she made last time I had my mouth on her nipples; how she arched and whined and whispered; how sensitive they were under my tongue.

She drops her shirt to the floor, and I reach for it, but she's too fast. "We're not doing this." I sound panicky, insistent, and shake my head. "Get dressed." But my words fall on deaf ears.

"Do you think about me naked in here?" she questions, pressing her chest to mine, ignoring me. "All this skin, all the time." She's completely unaffected, grinding down on me. "You can touch me, Edward. I want you to." My fists clench as I bite back a groan.

I'm so hot, her tits feel so good against me. The fabric of her bra scratches against my skin and I have to stop my hips from lifting from the bed, have to stop from helping her move. Her arms are around my shoulders, and when I still don't make a move, she runs her tongue up my neck. My eyes roll back and I feel her smile.

I become all too aware of the quiet; too aware of her legs around my waist and the quiet catch in her throat as she rocks forward. I should stop this, but my hands seem to have a mind of their own: they grab her ass and hold her still, hold her close, I can't decide which.

My fingers sink into her flesh when her lips drag across my cheek. I listen to my stubble scratch against her skin: I like the sound it makes, like the heat of her breath; like her nails digging into my back. Her nose brushes mine, her face so close, my mind fuzzy. I instinctively pull her closer and ignore the voice that tells me _no_.

My hands are on her hips now, her head tipped forward. Her lips are parted, her breath washing over my tongue—teasing me with something she's denied me time and time again. I think she's going to kiss me—that's what she wants me to think—and I don't know what I'm doing. This is like something you've wanted for so long, that when you think it might finally happen, you question why you wanted it so much to begin with. Or maybe I can't stand the thought of kissing her right now, because I know she'll taste of someone else.

Bella lifts her eyes to mine, staring intently as she hesitates. Maybe she can sense my hesitation, too. Her lashes are longer up close, and I want to ask her what she's so afraid of, what's holding _her_ back, because I'd never hurt her. I'm not her.

I sense her fingers moving slowly against my neck, and then she's kissing the edge of my mouth, missing my lips. I go to give her my cheek, because it's obvious what this is now—more obvious than before—but then she uses her tongue. I make a sound, wounded and wanting, and look at her accusingly.

Her hand inches toward my jeans, her fingers tugging inside the waistband, pulling at the button. I squeeze my eyes shut.

My cock is hard, but I won't do this. I won't be that guy. I'll ignore the sounds she's making and the insistence between my legs. I'll ignore her mouth: wet and hot and open on my neck. I'll ignore the way my body is telling me to touch her. I'll swallow against the disappointment I'll feel when I don't. I'll stop her hand before I can't think to stop her at all.

With a grunt, I grip her shoulders and push her away. I hold her at arms length until she's forced to stop. Bella's tense under my hands, but she doesn't fight me. Her arms are pressed to her sides, and her stare is frozen on my face: icy and unbreakable. I know what this is, but I don't know what to do with it. The look of surprise on her features makes me feel sick. This doesn't happen to her… this is something new. Bella uses sex as a way to get what she wants, because it's all she thinks she has to offer, and I've refused her. I wonder if I'm the first.

"No," I tell her with conviction. Her features are blank and I battle against this crazy urge to comfort her, which frustrates me all over again, because I wasn't the one who started this, she was. "You already fucked someone else tonight," I say, licking my lips. "Isn't that enough?"

For a moment, neither of us moves. We sit in a silence that's not so silent: a stillness wrought with speeding pulses and harsh exhales. I'm not sure what either of us is waiting for. I'm not going to change my mind and Bella doesn't attempt to alter my decision. I could ask her what comes next, but there's little point, because she's already making that decision for the both of us.

"Get your fucking hands off me," she whispers harshly as she attempts to push my hands from her shoulders. It crosses my mind that it's the first time her fingers have kind of been linked with mine like this. Her hands tremble, but I'm not stupid enough to think she's upset. Bella's shaking because she's angry. Her mouth tightens and _this_ is what comes next.

Her hair falls into her eyes, so she pushes it from her face. Bella chews on her bottom lip, and then she's getting to her feet, her hands back on me for just a second as she lifts her body from mine.

I watch as she snatches her shirt from the floor: it goes on as quick as it came off and the guilt that sits in my lungs makes me feel like I can't breathe. I rub my hand over my chest, telling myself if I apply enough pressure, the feeling will go away.

As she turns her back on me, it hits me how final this feels: if she leaves now, I'm not sure she'll be back. I feel anxious. My tongue feels heavy and my palms sweat. I should say something. Why aren't I saying anything?

In the end, it doesn't really matter, because Bella doesn't give me the chance to work through it. Pausing by the door, her eyes blaze.

"You're a pussy." There is no mistaking the hatred on her face. "And you're pathetic. You're so fucking pathetic." Her voice is gritty, full of sand.

"Maybe," I agree, regretting my next words almost instantly. "But not as much as you are right now."

Her expression rips into my chest. It makes me feel sick and powerful, because this is the first time something has gotten through and punctured_ her_. She is feeling it and it shows on her face. I stare at this expression and remember it and hate myself for the way it twists my stomach and causes my heart to beat a little faster.

I hate myself because I like it.

The boy I am when she isn't here would apologize, but Bella _is_ here, so I stay silent. I watch her blink and wait for words that aren't going to come. Impatience causes her feet to shift and her body to become restless. My eyes burn and my breaths feel weird and my dick is no longer hard. Finally, her mouth opens, but no words come out. Instead, she sucks in air through her nose before slamming the door shut behind her. It rocks my room and rocks me with it.

I wait a few seconds, listening to her make her way through the house, and then I'm on my feet. I feel like I need to stand, like I need to move, but I don't know what to do with my hands or my legs or my face. I don't know what to do about any of it.

My blood is boiling… and maybe I should go after her, but I can't bring myself to take the necessary steps in order to do that, either. I can't bring myself to call her name. I can't bring myself to care.

I stare around my room, at the posters tacked to the walls and the books on the shelves, and hate how painfully quiet it all feels.

I make the room loud to echo the ire tearing through my veins. "Fuck!" I shout, saying it again and again until my head feels like it's going to explode.

I rip the covers from the bed and fall back against the mattress. I try to calm down and tell myself there is nothing to it. I will clench my fists and grit my teeth and push through this feeling. I will lie here until my adrenaline fades away and my breathing steadies. I will do everything I can to forget about this girl.

I wait and wait but sleep refuses to take me once more. I think maybe it has something to do with the self-disgust sticking to my skin like sweat: no matter how many times I scrub my palms across my face, it doesn't leave; I can't wash her touch from my skin.

I stare up at the ceiling, my gaze tracing the cracks in the plaster, but I'm not really seeing them. I'm too distracted.

Inside my head is a picture of a girl.

I see the shame in her eyes and the hurt on her face long after she's gone.

* * *

**Hi. So. This is awkward. Ha ha... ha. Good news: we're not dead. Bad news: we're not dead. But seriously, we apologize for taking almost 5 months to update. We decided it's only fair to let everyone punch us in the face. So. have at it.**

**If you're still reading, then... thanks for reading. And if you only opened this to read the author's note, then... 'sup?**

**Susan beta'd and Nic pre-read. We love them for their help.**

**Reviews get a teaser for the next chapter.  
**

******See y'all in a month!**


	6. The Talk

**Disclaimer: No beagles will be harmed during the process of writing this story.**

* * *

_June 2008_

* * *

Edward  


"You should just forget about her, man. She sounds like a bitch. Girls like that aren't worth the hassle."

Garrett's words are cliché; expected of a friend after hearing a summarized version of what happened last night.

He offers this advice easily, as if it's something he's dealt with before. But the only girl Garrett has ever been hung up on is Kate—she'd never act the way Bella does. She doesn't hate herself that way.

I can't blame him for speaking his mind, though, because he's right—I know he's right. And I'm trying to process it, but it's not that simple. This thing between Bella and me passed uncomplicated weeks ago.

Garrett leans against the side of the house as I rake a hand through my hair, saying nothing. I can sense him watching me as he exhales between his teeth and shifts his feet against the ground. We're both quiet after that.

"She's really gotten inside your head, huh?" His words puncture the silence.

I find myself glancing across the street, like I can't help it. Mrs. Clearwater's car fills the driveway today, back from wherever it is she's been. The front door to her house is open and boxes sit beside the rear tires of her Suburban. I wonder if this means the others are leaving now… if Bella is.

Her truck was missing when I woke earlier. I'm not sure if she left last night or this morning. I'm not sure it matters either.

Turning my attention back to my friend, I lie. "No." Because saying she's gotten inside my head is an understatement.

Grabbing a smoke from my pack, I light it quickly before getting back to work. Garrett and I have been doing some jobs outside of the house for my mom: mowing, pulling weeds, and shit like that. With a cigarette in my mouth, I'm about to get started on the weeds around the patio when I notice Sue Clearwater heading our way.

I nod at her, blowing smoke to the side as Garrett wipes sweat from his face with the hem of his T-shirt.

She comes to a stop between the two half walls that encase the property. "You boys mind helpin' me load some furniture into my car?"

Garrett nods, shooting her a friendly smile. "Yeah, sure, whatcha got?"

"A small dresser, two end tables, and a few boxes," she lists off. "I can make two trips into town if it doesn't all fit."

My eyes travel across the street to her Suburban. "It should all fit," I tell her, swallowing back the things I want to ask.

I want to know if she's moving. I want to know if Bella already left. I want to know why I care.

I choose a question that doesn't involve her niece's friend. "You moving?"

"Just gettin' rid of things I don't need. I'd ask the girls, but those little shits are lazy. I swear, if they think they're gonna spend their summer here sleeping until noon and eating all of my food, they've got another thing comin'."

My face stays blank at the mention of Bella. If things were different, if she were any other girl, I'd add to this conversation. I'd be able to react—make a joke or laugh. But I can't, so I pretend like I don't know her.

"Where're you taking the furniture?" Garrett asks.

I drown out their conversation, not paying attention until I see them make their way toward Sue's house. Garrett looks back at me in confusion, and I hold up my cigarette.

"I'll be over in a minute," I say.

I smoke until there's nothing but filter and ash.

+.+.+.+.+

I haven't been inside this house in years. I think the last time was when my mom made me come by to pay condolences after Harry Clearwater passed away. The decor is as dated as I remember: floral wallpaper, pink carpet. It's oddly comforting to know some things have the ability to stay the same.

I'm standing on the tile in the foyer when Garrett walks past me, carrying an end table.

"This shit's light," he says. "Might be too heavy for you, pussy."

"Shut the fuck up," I laugh.

He attempts to flip me off as he heads out the front door.

"Edward," Sue calls out, appearing from the living room. "There're some boxes in the room at the end of the hall. Can you grab those and take 'em outside?"

I nod, quickly glancing around the house before I head down the hallway. It's dark and windowless and significantly cooler with the AC pumping through the vents.

With my hands in my pockets, I glimpse through the half-open door at the end of the hall only to find it's a bathroom. When I turn and open the one opposite, I freeze.

This room isn't empty.

Bella is lying across the bed, staring up at the ceiling as she scratches Cinnamon behind the ears, while Leah is sitting against the headboard, watching me. The blinds are open, flooding the room in light, and there is music playing lowly from a small radio on the dresser. Neither one of them speaks, or changes their position—I know Bella knows I'm here, though. Her hands go to the hem of her T-shirt before moving to her hair: it takes me a moment to realize the shirt is actually one of mine.

Diverting my attention, I try to act indifferent. But in the end it doesn't matter, because Bella doesn't acknowledge me—she keeps her eyes to herself.

"Can we help you?" Leah asks tersely, cutting through the silence.

I draw in a breath, hold it for a second. "I'm helping your aunt load some stuff into her car. She said there were boxes in here."

Leah has one knee up by her chin as she motions to the other side of the room. "On the floor by the window," she replies, not looking away from me.

I nod—I don't want to thank this girl for anything.

Ignoring them both, I rub a hand over the back of my neck as I walk. I'm deciding if I can manage both boxes at once so I can get the fuck out of here, when she speaks again.

"Did you two have fun last night?" Her gaze drifts from me to her friend.

I clench my fists; I don't answer. Tension is piled high like the books in the box at my feet.

I'm tempted to leave this shit exactly where it is when Bella sits up, gaining my attention.

It's evident to see she hasn't been awake very long. Her hair is down and her legs are bare and I hate that I'm noticing any of it.

I hate that I don't hate the very sight of her.

Her knee bounces, and she starts pulling at a thread in the covers, like she's trying to remove something. Maybe she's imagining it's me.

"That bad, huh?" Leah adds when neither of us attempts to give an answer. From the expression on her face, it's clear she's getting a kick out of this. _This_ girl I have no trouble hating.

Bella's mouth twists, a bitter sound escaping through her lips as she shakes her head and pushes herself from the mattress. Brown eyes meet mine for a second, and then they're gone; and then _she's_ gone. I swallow roughly and haul one of the boxes into my arms. It pisses me off that she's once again the one who gets to walk away, but I'm not sure her sitting on the bed saying nothing was any better.

Silence crashes over my head, louder than a room full of people as I head for the exit.

I'm almost to the door when Leah's voice stops.

"You really thought you were different?" Her tone is mocking.

I turn to face her, not so hesitant to speak this time. "Fuck off. You don't know me."

She's waiting for it, ready. "And you don't know her," she shoots back, leaning forward. "This is what she does—sucks someone in until there's nothing left."

I feel my teeth grind. "You don't know shit."

She laughs. "I know a lot more than you do."

I think of the Bella who clung to me in her sleep. Who picked up a stray dog from the side of the road because it had nowhere else to go. The girl who watches cartoons and watches _me_ when she doesn't think I'm looking.

I exhale through my nose. "No, I really don't think you do," I tell her.

Leah's face hardens and the muscles in my jaw tick.

I walk out before she has the chance to say anything else.

When I step out of the room, I find the girl I was defending standing across the hall from me. I shut the door, and pause for a second, wondering how much she heard and if she was listening. Her hands clutch the frame on either side of her, and it hits me how so many people can look at one person and see something different. When I look at Bella, I don't see the same girl Leah does… but I don't quite see her as I did before last night either. I feel like I don't have a clear grasp on her anymore, which is hard to digest. I'm starting to think that maybe I never did.

Leaning back against the wall, I consider asking her why the fuck she does the things she does, because none of these versions of her add up. But maybe she can sense this. She takes a deep breath, and I watch as her shoulders fall.

I watch as she closes the door between us, sucking the remaining light from the hallway.

+.+.+.+.+

It's almost two when Garrett and I are finished helping Sue. She offers to make us something to eat in exchange for our help, but I decline, not wanting to be in this house any longer than I have to be.

We head back to mine with the intention of finishing the yard work, but after the heavy lifting and awkward interaction with Bella, I decide I'm done being productive today.

I try to keep out all images and thoughts of the girl across the street, and it works for a while. Until I'm in the kitchen, grabbing my third beer, and spot the box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch on the counter.

I toss the box in the trash can.**  
**

Garrett's mom calls around four, and after a few _uh huh_s and _yeah, I know, mom_s, he tells me she's inviting me over for dinner. I don't bother telling him I'm not really up for it, because I know she won't let me say no.

When we arrive at his house, his mom is sitting under the covered patio, drinking wine, and his dad is hovering over the grill, keeping an eye on the steaks. His mom immediately starts talking our ears off. She asks how my parents are doing, and how school's going. But before I have a chance to answer either question, she goes on about something that happened back when she was in school.

Mrs. Fuller's in the middle of some story when Kate arrives. I had no idea she was even going to be here. She waves, apologizing for showing up late and telling us she made brownies.

"Kate Denali, you come give me a hug right now," Mrs. Fuller says, placing her wine glass on the table.

Kate smiles shyly and walks over to Garrett's mom to give her a hug.

"I swear, you just keep getting prettier every time I see you," Mrs. Fuller coos.

Kate's attention shifts to Garrett, who's staring at his phone. He hasn't looked up once. I'd kick him for being such a clueless dick, but he's too far away.

"You made brownies?" I ask, grinning. "Are you sure you didn't buy them from the bakery?"

"No, you jerk," Kate laughs. "They came in a box, but I mixed the ingredients together. It still counts."

I pull a face, teasing her about her boxed brownies. She tells me to shut up, so I tease her about something else, and this goes on for a while until dinner is ready.

Garrett's parents serve a meal that could feed at least fifteen people—there are only five of us sitting at the table. We're halfway through dinner when Garrett's mom decides she wants to talk about our love lives. She asks Kate if she's seeing anyone back in Florida, and when the answer is no, she not-so-subtly mentions that her son is single, too. Both of them pretend the notion is ridiculous.

"What about you, Edward? I thought I saw you in town the other day with a pretty brunette. I would've stopped to say hi, but I was running late for my hair appointment."

Her mention of Bella isn't something I was expecting. Caught off guard, I merely shake my head in response, but it's not good enough.

She sips her wine, smiling. "Oh, don't be shy now."

"I'm not," I tell her, staring down at my plate.

She catches on, and moves on to another topic; the atmosphere lightens back up, but my mood doesn't.

I hate that Bella has that effect on me, even when she's not present.

After we've finished eating dessert, Mrs. Fuller declines our offers of helping her clean up. Garrett asks Kate and me what we want to do, but I just want to go home, so we call it an early night.

Goodbyes are said, and Kate offers to give me a ride. I nod, silently following her to her car.

Once we're inside, she messes with the radio for a minute, settling on some country station before pulling away from the curb.

It's still early, not even eight. The sun is fading slowly, like it doesn't want to leave this day. I stare out the window, watching images blur past, not attempting to make anything out.

Kate's voice fills the car. "You were quiet during dinner."

I turn my head to look at her; she keeps her eyes on the road. "You know none of us can get a word in edgewise when Garrett's mom is around," I say with a smirk.

She snorts out a laugh. "That's true."

We're silent again after that.

Kate pulls up in front of my house, putting us in the shade for a second. I stare out the windshield, at the sky streaked with color, and think about heading back to school early. Life suddenly seems a lot easier there, in the city—less distractions.

"You wanna come inside?" I ask, drumming my fingers against my legs.

She looks like she's about to answer, but then her mouth closes, her attention stolen by something past my shoulder. Confused, I turn, following her gaze.

That's when I spot Bella sitting on the half wall that surrounds the front of the house. She has her hands on the outside of her thighs, swinging her legs back and forth; her attention is firmly on her boots, but it's obvious she's waiting for me. Like she didn't completely ignore me earlier today. Like we didn't exchange words last night that ended things before they really began.

"Want me to drive around until she leaves?" Kate asks—I don't think she's joking.

I shake my head. "No, it's fine." I tear my gaze from the window to the girl at my side. Kate's eyes bounce between Bella and me, her hands high on the wheel. "We'll hang out tomorrow?" I prompt when she seems to hesitate.

Focusing back on the road, my friend nods. "Yeah. Tomorrow. Don't flake on me, Cullen."

She wishes me luck as I unbuckle my seat belt. But it's not luck I want or need.

I can feel Bella's gaze on me the moment I step out of the car. I don't allow myself to look at her, though—not yet. I know it's childish, but I hope it makes her feel like shit.

I wait for Kate's car to disappear from view, and then I make my way toward the house.

When I'm a few feet away, I finally give Bella the attention she wants.

She looks up from her lap and holds my stare—weirdly, the weight of this connection feels heavier now that there are two us. This girl is all skin, all eyes, all sober tonight. It blows all of my expectations to pieces, because this version of her wasn't something I considered finding.

"What are you doing here?" The words sound harsher than I intended.

Bella's eyes are no longer on mine, her face blank, her lips pressed together. It's frustrating, this expression she wears.

"Can we go for a walk?" she asks. "Go somewhere to talk?" Her voice gives nothing away.

I swallow, and stay where I am, letting her know I'm not going to be the one to make the first move here. She hops off the concrete wall and takes a couple of steps in my direction.

"Just to talk," she repeats, maybe because I haven't said anything yet.

I grit my teeth as she pauses in front of me. With my hands in my pockets, I search her face—not a trace of makeup and her eyes aren't bloodshot.

I wonder if she's feeling as vulnerable as she looks.

I wonder if I look as indifferent as I'm trying to feel.

Bella starts walking, and like I'm somehow tied to her, I follow.

The sound of our boots crushing gravel is the loudest fucking thing right now: it eats the silence, but not the tension.

We walk until we're no longer on our street. Until the road beneath our shoes turns to dirt and rocks. Until the sun has dipped below the horizon, muting the colors around us.

I don't speak, and neither does Bella. I don't want to be the first, because I know that's what she probably wants. And this is her deal, not mine. If she wants to talk, she will.

We come to a fork in the road, and I wordlessly point toward the one on the right; the one that will take us around town instead of through it.

Our pace slows when we reach an area that overlooks lights in the distance. The view isn't much to look at—this place is pretty desolate—but it's better than nothing.

Stopping completely, I stare ahead at the small town. After a minute, Bella sits; I stay standing.

"I like it out here," she offers. "I wasn't sure I would, but I do."

Caving, I drop down beside her and watch as she pulls her knees to her chest, her boots kicking up dust for a second before it settles.

I fight the urge to ask her things, like why she likes it out here, and if that means she's going to stay. But I keep these thoughts to myself.

When she speaks, her next words are not what I expect.

"Do you hate me?" she asks, and for a second, I catch a glimpse of a girl who might actually care.

"That's what you want, right?" I reply, not wanting to answer her question.

If I hated her, I wouldn't be here right now.

Cutting her eyes to my face, she says, "No." She doesn't elaborate further.

I frown, looking out toward the town, thoughts of what she said and did last night running through my mind. I don't want to remember that version of her. But out here, drowning in so much space, there's too much world to lock out.

"That's not how you acted last night," I say. My fingers curl into a fist—I hate myself for even being here with her right now.

She's so quiet, it makes me wonder if she even remembers half of what she did.

"I was drunk," she tries explaining.

"That's a shitty excuse."

"It's the only one I've got," she says simply.

That isn't true, but I think she believes it.

I wonder if this is her way of asking for acceptance, not forgiveness.

It's the hottest night of the year so far. I can feel the dampness around my hairline, the sweat that has gathered along my spine. I rest my forearms over my knees and stare out at the town in the distance. Watch as lights begin to flicker on and off, like the air is trembling.

Growing up, I would spend nights crammed inside a tent with Kate and it would seem like there were states of space between us. We'd be camping out in her backyard—her knees would dig into my back. And it was never an issue, because she was my best friend. I didn't think of her like that; like a girl. But sitting out here with Bella is different—I am all too aware of her nearness.

I wonder what it is that tells our bodies, _This girl_. _This one is different_. _This is the one you like_, even if they're not thinking the same thing.

Maybe something chemical in the blood. Something stubborn in the brain. Something I wish I could control.

"I think I was around four or five the first time I heard my mom say that."

I'm so caught up in my thoughts, I almost don't catch her words.

I hesitate. "Say what?" I ask, brows pulling together in confusion as I crane my head to look at her.

She's staring up at the sky, lips mashed together, like she doesn't trust herself to speak.

"That she was drunk. That she was sorry for this or that. It was her go-to excuse," she says blandly. "Sometimes she'd say something different, like she was tired or work had been shitty, but they were all lies. Each time she fucked up, like majorly fucked it up for us all, it was because she'd been drinking."

This is the first time Bella's ever spoken about her life outside of Corona, and a hundred things suddenly come to mind. The questions tick at the back of my throat like a bomb, but I don't know how to voice any of them without causing her to close up, so I let the words disintegrate in my mouth.

"She'd take me for drives at night: something special that was ours alone, she called them. It didn't matter if I was sleeping, and she had to wake me, because she made them sound so exciting. And they were at first—we had fun. She'd buy me ice cream and let me eat as much of it as I wanted. And the radio was always playing…" Her voice begins to trail off, doubt present. "The only rule I had was to never tell my dad about them." She gets quiet again, stuck in her memories. "This was when he was working nights and wasn't really around, so it was easy to keep it a secret."

Bella hasn't looked at me once during her whole spiel, as though the sight of my face will put a stop to her words. And I'm kind of glad, because she has a tendency to disarm me during the exact moments I need to not be disarmed. I know she's not telling me any of this to gain sympathy, but it doesn't mean I won't feel it. It doesn't mean I'm not fighting my natural instincts to comfort her. It's hard to act cold in this heat.

"Eventually I realized we kept heading in the same direction," she says. "We'd pull into this parking lot across from a strip of motels, where she'd leave me alone in the car for brief periods of time until they weren't really that brief anymore."

The atmosphere turns thick in the heat, the rock in my throat lodged as I see where this story is headed. A path with potholes lining its center, waiting for something to trip.

"I was scared at first, because I was only little, like eight or something, but the place was surrounded by streetlights: she said that's how I knew it was safe, all lit up like that, like Christmas. And I believed her, because she was my mom, and your mother isn't supposed to lie to you about things like that."

Her voice doesn't break like I expect. Like someone else's might do in this same situation. It's as though she's so detached from it, the memory isn't hers at all; as though she's pressed play on these scenes so many times she's become bored with what she's watching.

It's as though she's doing everything she can to stop these memories from hurting.

"So I'd stare at the nearest light to me until she came back, sometimes falling asleep, sometimes not. And then one night, one of them switched off, went black, submerged the car into darkness, and I remember crying so loud. Screaming for my mother. Sobbing so hard my ice cream came back up."

She closes her eyes at this part, like she's back there, eight years old again and screaming for her mother.

"Anyway, I must have exhausted myself because I woke up in my own bed." She licks her lips. "We didn't go on any more road trips after that."

I stare at this girl, at the way her lashes flicker, gaze pinned to the stars that begin to prick the darkness, and suddenly I'm angry, but I don't know who I'm angry at: Bella for complicating this even more by telling me this fucked-up story; her mother for treating her daughter that way; or me because I'm sitting here listening to it. Because I'm supposed to be keeping my distance. Because I'm smarter than this. Because though her hand is right next to me, I can't take it. Because she wouldn't like it.

"Of course, as I got older, I realized none of those trips had been for us. They'd been for her and _him_. The nobody she was too busy fucking."

She pushes her hair over one shoulder and exhales slowly; I wonder how one person can be so broken yet seem so strong, all at the same time.

I want something from this girl. I'm not sure what it is or what to call it or how to get it, but I want it.

How the first thing I noticed about her was that I noticed her at all. How she's kept me awake ever since.

"I'm a lot like her, you know," Bella says after a moment.

Rubbing my palm over my stubble, I question, "Your mom?"

"Yeah." A bitter expression has taken over her features. "It's something my dad would always tell me. Big brown eyes. Heart-shaped face. Stubborn nature. Even our fucking laughs are the same."

I try to remember if I've ever heard Bella laugh. Not the mild kind, but the kind that brings tears to your eyes and hurts your face because it can't be controlled.

I think I'd remember something like that if I had.

"It's why he left in the end," she says. "He couldn't stand to be around two of the same person. Not after what she did."

I watch her closely. "You didn't go with him?" I prompt.

I know I'd find it hard staying with a mother after discovering something like that.

She flicks her gaze to mine before settling it back on the darkness in front of us. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because he didn't want me to," she says with a shrug. Like it's something simple. Like it hasn't been tearing her up inside ever since.

After that, I stop asking questions.

The lights begin to dim in town, slow and subtle shifts happening all around me.

One of those shifts is Bella.

"I'm tired of feeling like I'm fucking crazy."

Her voice is so quiet, I'm not sure she meant to say it.

It knocks down something inside of me, the sadness in her tone. I stare at her profile: eyes shut, mouth closed, and watch as she draws in a deep breath. A second passes where I think she's about to cry, but then she turns and looks right at me, something she's been avoiding. And it's like a punch to the gut, holding that stare, because I haven't seen this from her before.

Her eyes are swimming and her swallows are heavy and it's almost like she's challenging me to get up and walk away.

I know that's the smart decision. I know that's what she's asking. But I can't move. I can't fucking move.

She's the one good at running, not me.

Bella's lips part and her eyes dart down to my mouth, her intention clear—this is the moment when I should tell her no. But that look is eating away at me and I've been wanting this for too long.

With her face so close, I try not to think about the last time we were in this situation. Try not to think about her expression in those early morning hours. How her mouth opened; how my words stole hers; how she left me with something heavy on my chest.

When I feel her breath hit my lips, it's both better and worse.

Her movements are slow and timid and her hand is on my leg, squeezing my thigh, like she's trying to stop herself. Like she just can't fucking stop herself. And I know I want this girl to kiss me. I like the hotness of her breath and the pressure of her fingers too much to pull away.

Her bottom lip brushes against mine, our noses touching, our mouths aligned—I try not to be affected but I can't help it and she knows that she's got me. My hand finds her face; I touch her gently, my thumb at her mouth, right at the edge, my fingers on the side of her cheek.

We stay like this for a while, not kissing, just touching, her eyes opening and closing as I nudge my face a little closer: same war, different battle. But it's not enough.

I'm about to give in and just kiss her, when she presses her lips to mine fully; it lasts for a second before she draws away. Her breath stutters and I think she's changed her mind, but then her mouth returns: something shy, something nice, something I want more of.

With my fingers under her chin, I tilt her face up and kiss her back, my pulse racing. It's brief and sweet and something I know she's not used to. It's something I want to do again.

Bella responds immediately.

She pulls at me, coaxing me closer—fisting my shirt and my arms and my hair—and then she's up on her knees, arms around my neck as she tries to get nearer still. But our positions are awkward. There are too many limbs. Too little restraint. Too much desperation.

I groan and she makes a sound, something impatient and small that feels needy and big as she climbs over my lap and straddles me. She pushes us torso to torso, and I like her like this, all instinct, all girl. Her lips are warm and soft and demanding, and my breath rushes through my nose when she puts more force behind her lips.

Without even thinking about it, I push my tongue into her mouth and grab her hips to hold her steady.

Bella's small moans start driving me crazy—I think she knows how much I like them by now. Her fingers trail from my jaw to my neck, and that one little movement sets something off inside of me. All of my frustration, all of my want, it leaks into this kiss. My grunt gains a reaction from her, too. When I slide my hands up her ribs to her face, she angles her head and pushes her tongue deeper. When she grinds down on me, I match her need.

Everything turns frantic after that. Her hips roll and my dick is hard and I have to break our kiss to calm myself down.

Fisting the back of her hair, I try to catch my breath.

I want this; I want_ her_. I've been wanting to fuck her for the past month. But it's also more than that. And while I could try and convince myself differently, I think all she's grasping for is to feel wanted. She's still so vulnerable, too: I can feel it in her bones as she shakes when she realizes my lips have stilled; when she notices my movements have stopped.

When Bella opens her eyes, she won't look at me—maybe she's afraid at what I'll find.

Breaths ragged, she presses her face close, hiding what I want the most.

"You scare me." She whispers the words right into my mouth.

I swallow roughly and try to imagine how I could possibly scare her when she's the one who calls all the shots.

Bella keeps her gaze down and presses the pads of her fingers against my bottom lip, like she's trying to keep her admission right there. Like she's stopping it from escaping so she doesn't have to carry it around with her anymore.

Sliding my hands from her hair, I stroke my thumbs across her cheeks and wait for her eyes to return.

When they do, I bite one of her fingers gently, and then her bottom lip, and catch her sounds in my mouth.

I know I could give her false assurances like her mother. Turn her down like her father. But I do neither.

With Bella, I feel like actions speak louder than words.

So I kiss her again until she forgets she has anything to be afraid of.

* * *

**Hiii. Thank you so much for reading. And for your continued patience. You don't have to punch us in the face this time. We can do it ourselves.**

**Susan beta'd, and Jen and Nic pre-read. We're so grateful for their help and love them a lot.**

******Reviews get a teaser for the next chapter.**

**See you next time! xx**


End file.
